When I wrote about my life in the quarterly newsletter for a local charity, my Christmas edition was voted ‘the best ever!’ along with the recipe for my silky chocolate cake, which I suspect is what tipped the scales. I hinted at harbouring deep and secret ambitions. Feelings married people weren’t supposed to have. Did it stem from taking my favourite philosopher to bed each night? Had Michel de Montaigne finally penetrated? And was I alone in having a controlling and dysfunctional but colourful character for a mother who flew on Concorde yet shopped at Oxfam? And is it just me who drives a Mini on the pavement during rush hour? So what if some toes happened to get flattened it was preferable to a head-on collision with a Mercedes-Benz because there’s no surprise as to who would have won that particular confrontation.