‘Oh yes,’ answered Bardot. ‘We did the light show in St Michael’s Cave on Gibraltar and the walking tour of Cartagena and the Drach Caves. We didn’t get off at Cadiz cos we wanted to stay on board for the art auction.’

‘Have you used the spa facilities yet, Gareth?’

‘He’s not allowed,’ chuckled Bardot. ‘Not until I can trust him with the Visa again.’

‘Oh, you should,’ I said. ‘They do leg waxing, teeth whitening, arsehole bleaching. I’m think of having either a Brazilian or a Clit-ler – where they leave a little Hitler moustache above your slice. And my arsehole needs bleaching. Do you bleach your arsehole, Gareth? Or do you pour it straight down her neck?’

Neither of them got the joke, which was fine by me but it did create another awkward silence. I decided to perform a little Bard-ectomy – going straight for the tumour. ‘Bardot, remember when I asked for your fucking opinion? No, neither do I!’

Within seconds, she had flushed hot red all up her scrag neck, gathered her bag and coat and flounced out, as well as she could flounce in the vertiginous heels she’d shoved her trotters into. And Gareth, being Gareth, made his apologies to the others and scurried after her like the mouse who would never roar.

I looked at Jayde, expecting her to be laughing, but she was looking down, avoiding my gaze. She didn’t look well at all. Pretty soon she made her excuses that Sansa needed a sleep (she didn’t) and she and the kids got up, with much argument from Ty.

‘No, Mummy, I stay with Hilly! No, Mummy, I not going, get off me!’

‘Ty, NOW please, we’re going, stop it.’

And he was hitting her and kicking for all he was worth but Jayde was having none of it and off they marched on a lingering echo of his piercing screams and kicking Stormzy feet. There was nothing I could do because Jayde was his mum and I was just a tourist, in every sense of the word.

That left me with concentrated Gammon extract – I silently hoped the ceiling above them all would cave in and Dennis would get the jazz bar piano implanted in his skull.

But of course nothing happened. Nobody got crushed, there were no sudden piano entrances or vomitus bleeding from the mouth like on Downton. Nothing ever happens unless I make it happen.

Gabriel appeared again, walking back across the dining room with his massive biceps and his third fuck-wink so far. And I winked back.