In fact, we have a bit of a relationship. I go to see her whenever I need some fruit, if you get my drift. Might this be a midlife crisis? No, not at all. It’s a fiction conjured up by that stupid spellchecker: “I know what you want to say thingy” on my text messages.

“Who is this Amanda?” asks Mike with a bit of a smirk as the wait for him outside Marks and Spencer comes to an end. I look at him and then check my messages. “I’m very close to Amanda”, it confesses. MandS.

The job in hand is now to try to disable this predictive text before it gets me into even more trouble.