Today, folks, marks the final phase in my transition to a normal person – or ‘norm’ as we like to call them in our contemptuous way. We now have all the accoutrements of adult life: as well as a filing cabinet, small economical hatchback and washing machine, we now own a dining table. For the first time since either of us left home. No longer will we have to squat like Neanderthals in the floor, scooping food into our gaping maws with our fingers* but can sit like fully-fledged members of Western society on chairs and use cutlery and everything. Note that we even plumped for rattan chairs. Rattan for chrissake. Plus, note the peace lily on the windowsill. What has become of our mock-indie credentials? The table even extends so we have dinner parties. I think I need to have a lie down.

* Never actually happened. Though I think that if we had not bought this table now, Mrs RH would have bought lap trays. And that really would have been the end.