I went to Norwich to buy birthday presents for my husband. He’s lovely and puts up with me and so is deserving of nice things.

By lunch time I had bought myself some Guerlain make-up, a lovely pair of shoes and spent half-an-hour playing in the John Lewis odds-and-ends section. This is where the shop displays many interesting things you don’t need but are simply irresistible.

I rang a desk bell... very like the one on reception in Fawlty Towers:

“Basil?”

Then there were about six hour-glass sand timers that needed to be turned over and checked for accuracy.

“Are you okay, there?” asked a Lewis’s specially trained be-nice-to-mad-possibly-dangerous-middle-aged-women store assistant who had obviously been watching me for a bit.

“Yes, thank you,” I said in my best posh voice as another woman of about my age walked past and rang the reception bell.

So, after three hours roaming the stores, backstreet emporia and markets; weary and footsore all I needed now was birthday presents for my husband.