TPR took my mother back to the car while I continued to root around the charity shop.

I paused over a Peter Rabbit china set. This would be a perfect present for my second cousin T’s wife S, but how would I transport it on my tandem? Then I unearthed a dozen mis-priced Harris Tweed ties amongst a load of old men’s suits, one of which would look great with TPR’s blue Harris Tweed jacket. These were transportable, but I rejected them because they looked a little worn.

The shop staff told me about the sister charity shop just a short walk away. There I might find a brown Harris Tweed hat. I reckoned that TPR would not mind waiting a little longer for me, so made my way through the shopping centre to this other shop.

At first I found the manager friendly and attentive, but then he started telling me details about my life and showing me unflattering photographs from my EdCM days. How had he found out so much information about me so quickly? It seemed that he had performed a reverse image search on a photograph of my face the minute that I had walked into the saleroom.

His interest in me was all the more irritating when he followed me to my hospital bed and hinted that he knew all sorts of sinister stories about my medic friend PM, who was caring for my poorly ankle. I couldn’t wait to discharge myself and escape from this vile person.

Meanwhile TPR had no idea where I was. I couldn’t contact him by phone to tell him because his mobile was next to mine, inside my handbag.