While he adjusted my limbs, I appraised the surly man looming over me. There was something about the set of his shoulders – squared, braced, alert, like a caged animal ready for flight – that caught my interest. ‘If you hate cruising so much, why did you take the job of ship physician?’ I probed him back.

‘Let’s just say that the attention I give to my debt is unremitting. I foolishly signed a three-month contract. Can you bend your other knee for me now? This is my first cruise and I already can’t wait to get the hell off. I’m just praying for Somali pirates . . .’

‘Might be a long wait as we’re, you know, in the Pacific. Where did you work before here, then?’ I asked, in another effort to take my mind off his painful prodding.

‘Doctors Without Borders. A job I loved, but lost.’

‘Lost?’

‘Yeah, it’s probably with my car keys someplace.’

‘Seriously.’

‘There’s not one shred of evidence to support the notion that life is serious, I’ll have you know,’ he verbally sidestepped. ‘Push back against my hand.’

‘So . . . you lost your job because you have a sense of humour?’

‘Well, yes, actually. I annoyed my boss, this total wanker desk-jockey jerk, by making a joke at his expense on Twitter. Now bend your leg inwards for me . . . He’d mounted his high horse and was galloping off into the self-righteous sunset about something or other. I tweeted back a jokey comment. Sadly, he didn’t find it funny.’

‘What did you say?’

‘That the clitoris has eight thousand nerve endings and still isn’t as sensitive as a white male git on the internet.’

I snorted out a laugh, as unexpected as it was loud.

‘So, I’m on gardening leave. Until I learn to be a bit more “PC” and “woke” and not hit “trigger points” for people on their “emotional journey”. And then, when I’ve “evolved”, I’ll go find a cure for malaria, or perhaps even something more difficult to locate, like, I dunno, Vladimir Putin’s moral compass, and life will go on. Okay, now press down as hard as you can.’

Despite my physical discomfort, I couldn’t suppress a half grin. ‘Yes, well, I’m having a career rethink too, actually. Although it might be time to finally face the fact that I’m never going to make it as one of Kylie Minogue’s backing dancers.’

The crotchety doctor gave a twinge of a smile – a twinge that vanished the moment he noticed that I’d noticed it.

‘Okay, hop – sorry, slide down off there and take a seat. You’re right. It’s a groin strain. Ice the inside of your thigh to reduce the swelling. Take anti-inflammatory pills every four hours for the pain and, when you feel able, do some stretching and strengthening exercises. I’ll give you a sheet of suggestions. Is that it?’