There were two RJHs in the lift: one, a miniature, was a little shorter than me; the other a six-footer (at least). Both were built to scale of their normal counterpart. The fourth person in the lift was a stranger. Like us, he was also working on the movie.

Our main task was to find our location for the next day. We drove up and down all the terraced streets hunting for a house with our code name. On every gate and street-facing windows there were poster-sized labels, but none matched the code that had been assigned to us.

Perhaps I was destined never to star as Thursday Next in the movie adaptations of Jasper Fforde’s fabulous book series?