We go to the Co-op on the way home and buy chocolate croissants to cheer ourselves up and to undo all the good we’ve just done in one fell swoop. We don’t mention Jude Taylor or Blake Chadwick again.

When we get back to my house there’s no one else home. On the work surface is a Post-it Note from Greg, saying, Gone fishing. Back at 5. No endearments, no kisses, no nothing.

‘Great,’ I say. ‘We can put Plan A into action.’

So we eat our croissants quickly and down a swift cup of coffee with them while we are gearing up in our bunny costumes. Today, I don’t have quite so much enthusiasm for this.

‘Think of Peru,’ my sister says when she sees my long face. Then she hugs me. ‘I didn’t mean to nag you. You’ve got to do as you want to do. It’s your life.’

Yes, it is, I think miserably as I trudge downstairs with our saucy advertisement board. Lauren goes to the garage to get the buckets. During the week she’s bought two big pink sponges for us to use. For some reason the sight of them makes me smile.

‘Come on,’ she says encouragingly. ‘Let’s wiggle our bunny tails for the good residents of Milton Keynes.’

So I put the sign out and stand by the gate waving cheekily at the cars that pass. Within minutes, our first customer has stopped.

‘It’s always the men in cars on their own who take up our services,’ Lauren mutters as we hose down the Renault in a suggestive manner. ‘I should have got my friend Zak to dress up as a fireman to attract the women drivers.’

And Blake, I think. But then I’m not entirely sure that I could have coped with seeing BC in a fireman’s uniform. My hormones might well have self-destructed.

Like last weekend, we have a steady stream of clients. We take turns to grab a sandwich at lunchtime and then the next time I look at my watch it’s nearly three o’clock. We’ve already done fifteen cars and have banked nearly £150 pounds. That takes me just over halfway on my target and that lifts my heart. Another hour or so and then we’ll need to clear up before Greg comes home.

Then I glance down the road at our queue. Three more cars. Perhaps we should call it a day after that. As I turn back to my current customer – a Mini that just needs a wash and brush-up – a car screeches up to the front of the queue. It’s a vehicle that I know only too well.

A moment later, the driver’s door slams and the driver – who I also know only too well – stamps up the drive. His eyes pop out of his head when he sees my Bunny Girl outfit.