I was travelling to the south coast with my new husband, Sherlock Holmes, in an open top sports car. I couldn’t stop looking at him and admiring the way the flaps on his hat were capturing the wind as we sped down the A road.

Later, despite knowing my job was 100% remote, I convinced myself I needed to commute the our non-existent office in central London. But my local station was a scene of chaos, and a replacement steam train with old-fashioned slam doors had been brought in. I squeezed into a compartment and locked eyes with a stranger. By the time I had taken a seat beside him, we had already decided we couldn’t keep our hands off each other and embarked on an intense make-out session.

I decided to ditch work and follow him to his office overlooking the Thames. When he tried to introduce me to his colleagues, we realised we did not know each other’s name.