I’ve had a rubbish day. I’ll spare you the rant: in summary, getting off the boat first thing in the morning didn’t occur until 4pm, and the list of people I’d like to stab with a rusty knife just got considerably longer.

But I’m home now, and have ingested a celebratory pizza, followed by a much needed bath*. I then realised that my dressing gown, which I normally slip into after such ablutions, was nowhere to be found on the upper storey. So I popped downstairs and peered around the door into the living room. There it was in the middle of the floor. This was tricky - how to reach it in my state of undress without subjecting my webcam viewing public to certificate 18 footage?

Leaning around the doorway I carefully turned the webcam to the wall and then made my way happily across the room to my dressing gown.

You know the noise a webcam makes when the cable it’s attached to decides to uncoil, twisting the whole thing round by a hundred and eighty degrees? I heard that noise. I doubt the sound of machine gun fire could have prompted me to dive for cover more rapidly. I think I got away with it, but if anyone out there captured a blurred shot of my buttocks flying through the air at 200MPH, you’d be well advised to hold onto it until I’m a famous movie star and flogging it to the tabloids for millions.

*On rereading I realise that looks like I ingested my bath. I can’t be bothered to rephrase it to remove the ambiguity.