A sunny day is forecast. I’ve already booked a day off. The night before a plan is hatched over Scrabble and wine: “I’ll cancel my 3.30 meeting and pick you up from the station – we’ll have a mini photo adventure.” ‘Hurrah!’ I think. ‘Or maybe I’ll watch you masturbate in the woods. Yes, I like that idea. You choose to which vibrator to bring. Don’t feel you have to wear underwear.”

Seventeen or so hours later my orgasm is ripped out of me, aided by the Rocks Off Chaiamo but accelerated by the sight of spunk hitting the woodland floor. I glance over to the backs of the unaware dog walkers some 50 metres away and smile. The voyeur and the exhibitionist in me is satisfied. An hour after being picked up I’m sat on a wall outside another train station looking for all the world like a modest middle-aged woman in a red jumper dress, waiting to meet her godmother for an exhibition and early dinner.