Thankfully, Giles was still out doing star-jumps and poo press-ups on the Downs when I arrived home from The Cheshire Cheese. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation and, more importantly, I didn’t want to worry him by appearing anything less than completely fine. His absence therefore came as something of a relief and, after making myself a quick sandwich, I left him a scribbled note saying that I could feel a cold coming on, and hurried upstairs to bed.

Having already told Roger, Luke – and now Giles – that I was ill, I was perfectly placed for calling in sick the next morning, so when I woke before six and found myself unable to get back to sleep, I decided to do just that. However, my plan was scuppered less than an hour later, when Giles himself woke up genuinely unwell and unable to go into work.

The first indication that there was a problem was a range of disturbingly loud anatomical noises coming from the middle-floor bathroom at around six forty-five. When I went down to investigate, a very green-looking Giles shared his suspicion that the mussels he’d had for supper the night before had been off. To my credit, I simply patted him on the back, nodded sympathetically and made no reference whatsoever to the ninety minutes he’d spent rolling around in shit.

Of course, the upshot of Giles being at death’s door was that it just didn’t feel right for me to stay at home all day faking it. So, having placed as many meds, drinks and electronic gadgets by his bed as I thought he might need, I headed off to work, leaving strict instructions for him to call me if he didn’t improve.

From a selfish point of view, Giles’s stomach bug at least provided me with an unlikely, but very welcome, distraction from my woes. Until I stepped out into the bright morning sunshine of the avenue, I hadn’t had a second to think in any detail about my distressing evening with Jason. In fact, it had barely crossed my mind at all. However, once away from all the heaving, retching and playing Florence Nightingale, I didn’t even make it to the end of the road before my focus turned once again to dissecting his deeply depressing pub monologue.