I’ve just been to a different place. There’s a perfume that old greek women wear, and it was sunny today; these two transported me. I was sat in the pub and I fancied a break, so I wandered down to sit by the river. There was an old greek lady sat there and as I sat on the bench next to her, I caught a whiff of her perfume (I guess it smells like Madeleines, though I’ve never smelt them.) It instantly took me back to being a child on the beach; the shingly gravel beneath my feet became sand, the river became the briny sea, the sun was the same sun, and the old lady became my Aunty Nina (not a real aunty, but then they never are), enfolding me in her hot fat arms. I never saw her in that situation as a child, by the seaside, but I sat there transfixed for fifteen minutes, and came out of it like a yogic trance.

Sat back in office, behind with deadlines and in the middle of brainstorming with alec about how you’d go about getting an alternate persona, I suggested if you went and dug up the birth certificate of someone who was born in the same year as you, but died in infancy, then you could use them. Then I realise my eager yelpings have carried to the ears of our Production Editor, absent the last week as she’d miscarried… fun ensues.