I was asking for trouble when I left my handbag next to a bin beside the road when I went for a run. By the time I returned my bag was gone – and with it my bank cards, keys, and mobile phone.

I sought help in a posh tailor’s shop swarming with loud Edinburgh University students. One – Connor – lent me his phone. The only number that I could remember was my middle sister’s landline. When she picked up, she declared that she had no sympathy for my plight and refused outright to rescue me.

Then I remembered the public information film about burglars’ strategies for matching keys to households. We were bound to be robbed and TPR would never forgive me.