I was waiting in reception at my publisher’s when, to my horror, a former employer walked out of the elevator towards me. I sighed because this was going to be awkward – she had treated me dreadfully. However, I was saved when I was called into my meeting.

On my way, I had to squeeze through a crowded room filled with smart people drinking champagne. “Scandinavian or Dutch” I said to myself, admiring their spectacles and outfits. I was wearing a fabulously reflective chrome-coloured trench coat. Remembering that my eyes had different modes, I switched them to the ‘sparkle’ setting.

A middle aged fair-haired man, who looked as if he could be cast as Inspector Wallander, stepped in front of me to block my path and propositioned me. I looked into his eyes, and liked what I saw. I said, “I’m actually contemplating it – it’s been years”. It didn’t take long for him to realise I was telling the truth, and a silent agreement was reached.

[At this point I woke up, drank a glass of milk and cried for 45 minutes. Then I went back to sleep.]

Once again, I met my new lover. In the interim, I had shaved my legs, styled my hair and was ready for action. I found out more about him. He was not Dutch, but a famous South African poet. He was kindness itself and I know I was going to be looked after. I didn’t know where we were going for our tryst, but I did say “I have to be up fairly early in the morning – I’m going to Bermondsey Antiques Market.” He seemed impressed.