In theory, I thought Dom might be quite delighted as well, being such a big fan of symmetry. He likes things in pairs or sets, neatly and tidily lined up to please his ordered surgeon’s brain. Shoes, suits, plates, books, ears, boobs. So surely he’d be more content with a nice pair of comfy armchairs for his patio than just the one? I batted away the recollection of his reaction when I dragged the first one home, and the fact that he’d only relented when I’d promised to keep it out of sight in the shed. It never even came close.

Hauling that chair down the narrow side path was definitely a two-man job, but it was still too early to ask Dom for help, and I didn’t want to risk the chance of a veto (or remind him of my original promise). Gentleman, predictably, turned down my request for help and settled in to watch the show. Within a few minutes I was lathered in sweat and my arms were shaking with the exertion. I kept the cursing to a whisper at first, in consideration of sleeping neighbours and all that, but when I saw a stealth movement through a gap in the hedge, I allowed myself a loud sweaty grunt.

I mean, it really wouldn’t have killed Ray to help me – clearly, he was stronger than he looked if he’d managed to get the chair out there in the first place (which made me feel all kinds of inadequate) – but he was probably too busy zooming in on my sweaty head and hoping for another scoop in the Double. I got a mental picture of Pete’s friendly, smiling mug and thought how handy his giant biceps would be right about then.

After much more huffing and puffing I managed to manoeuvre the unwieldy chair around the corner to the back garden. I gave it an almighty shove up the six-inch ledge of the patio before collapsing in it, completely knackered. As my breathing slowly came back to normal, I saw my new acquisition had landed with a direct line of sight through the open door of my shed. I could see the ratty old beach towel I use to wipe my feet on and last night’s tea mug sitting on the milk crate, and I was struck by how pathetic the scene looked from that angle. A grown man playing house in a damp, musty garden shed, without so much as a proper doormat or a bedside table.

But before I had a chance to contemplate the not insubstantial questions that arose from the realisation, I heard a noise behind me and looked over to see the last person I’d expected at that time of the morning.

‘Sorry, I . . . I heard some weird noises and I thought . . .’ I could tell by Lou’s face that she knew she wasn’t really equipped to fend off any weird noises, whatever they might have been. A dry, raspy laugh escaped her throat and even she seemed surprised at the sound. ‘Yeah, well. I’m not quite sure what I was going to do about it.’