I was looking forward to talking to NP and SF over the meal, but as we sat down to dinner one of the guests declared that he was an orthopaedic surgeon and very interested in assessing my leg pain. This seemed too good an opportunity to miss, so I followed him out of the dining room into a bedroom.

I modestly turned away from the surgeon to take off my trousers. By the time that I turned around again, the surgeon had completely undressed! Propped up one arm, he lay on the bed, his pale, skinny, body fully displayed. This was not the kind of medical examination that I had envisaged, so I stormed out of the room.

When we returned to join the others it was obvious that they now ‘knew’ that the surgeon and I had embarked on a love affair. Even my long-dead former colleague BT believed in this ludicrous myth.