Urgh! A dense wall of steamy heat! It was terribly close – terribly, terribly close – in there. And very small. Claustrophobic. And dark, just a tiny, sullen, red bulb blinking in one corner. And the air – what little remained of this most precious of commodities – was redolent with herbs (sage? Marjoram? Mint?). Miss Hahn was sitting bolt upright with her knees together and her arms crossed. I sat down next to her on the tiny, slatted bench.

‘I haven’t got my glasses on,’ I said (by way of defending her honour – such as it was).

‘Are you seriously thinking of taking a sauna in your socks, Mr Huff?’ Miss Hahn barked.

‘I’m not what you might call an habitué of the sauna,’ I confessed.

‘Well do you make a habit of wearing gloves in the bath?’ Miss Hahn demanded (in a flawed attempt to draw some ridiculous kind of parallel, I suppose).

‘I’ve always thought saunas a little sordid,’ I confided.

‘I imagine even the innocent Snowdrop might be considered “sordid” if apprehended by a sufficiently warped mind!’ Miss Hahn retorted.

‘I can’t entirely go along with your logic.’ I shrugged.

Silence.

‘And I can’t pretend that I don’t feel a measure of anxiety about remaining in here – such a small space, such a tight space – partially undressed, when there’s a giant crack, a fissure, running straight across the lawn which finishes up directly beneath …’

I gazed down at the concrete floor. It was very dark (like I said), but wasn’t that a … a …?

‘I didn’t think you’d actually come in,’ Miss Hahn informed me, stiffly.

‘Oh. Oh dear,’ I muttered, still inspecting the floor, running my be-socked toe over the perceived ‘fault’ and realizing that it was just a water-mark.

‘I mean it’s only a tiny sauna,’ she explained.

‘Yes,’ I conceded. ‘It’s certainly small, extremely small, but is it structurally sound? I wonder.’

‘Probably not,’ she sighed (as if this was the very least of her concerns). ‘Although now that you are here,’ she continued, ‘I think it only fair that you remove your underwear. Otherwise you run the risk of placing me at a psychological disadvantage.’

‘I’ve always been led to believe that the dynamics of power in a situation in which one party is naked and the other dressed, generally tend to favour the naked party,’ I confided.

‘Who led you to believe that?’ Miss Hahn enquired.

‘I think it’s an idea that’s quite commonly accepted.’ I shrugged.

‘People used to think the earth was flat,’ Miss Hahn opined.

Silence.

‘But it’s round,’ she eventually added.

‘I fear we may be getting a little bogged down in the details.’ I smiled.

‘Speak for yourself,’ she muttered, and as she was speaking her words were all but obliterated by a loud creaking sound.

‘Do you think this structure is safe?’ I bleated, knuckles whitening as I clung, for dear life, on to the rickety bench.

‘Probably not,’ she repeated, ‘but I had to try and do something to get all this indelible ink off.’