Life would be a lot easier if I lodged with archeologist RJ at least one night a week in her shared flat in Newington. So we made an arrangement for me to start a trial run on Wednesday.

I bought my provisions – as far as I could – from an understocked supermarket just along the road, helped by JM who flung packs of processed cheese slices at me. All the packaging split as the cheese slices hit the aisle, but JM didn’t care. The supermarkets could afford the loss.

I soon realised that my new accommodation arrangement was not going to work. I hated sharing a bedroom and kitchen facilities, and I was furious when my Scarpa shoes went missing from the shoe rack at the front door. Someone had obviously clocked their value and stolen them, along with my £600 calf skin orthotics.