I sneaked up to the University of Edinburgh’s New College tugging my small trolley of gardening tools. There, out of sight of the few people who were around so early in the day, I tidied up a couple of shrubs. I also accidentally cut a red dahlia. I hid it in my bag to take home and pop into a vase on the kitchen table.

On the way back to my flat, I lingered on North Bridge for a spot of pruning. It amused me that a small tree planted beneath a statue of a deer had grown in such a way that the animal now sprouted an extra set of (twig) antlers.

My next contract was at the University of Birmingham. On a very quiet Sunday, I took the lift up to the third floor of the Muirhead Tower, then dragged my vacuum cleaner along to the big seminar room. It wasn’t until I plugged in the machine that I noticed the old man slumped on a sofa. Was he dead or alive?

I was relieved when the stranger stirred from his slumber. He explained that he was a former member of staff of the French department. The head of school had given him permission to use the seminar room at his leisure at weekends. Then ensued a conversation to identify mutual contacts.