Ok, this was a couple of years back, and Harriett decided she needed clothes – specifically underwear (this is the only reason I deigned to accompany her), so off we go to the local underwear emporium…

I soon realised that, even when accompanied by a woman, blokes aren’t encouraged to handle the delicate lace edged items – especially not with a leery grin on their face, so I resorted to saying things like “Those ones…” and pointing with my head, hands firmly in my pockets (yes, I know now that just made it look worse…).

Anyway, Harriett found a few bras to try on, and requested the matching panties from the assistant – “Just give them to him,” she said, pointing at me, and disappeared into the changing room.

And so, that is how I found myself with 4 or 5 pairs of tiny panties, standing outside the changing rooms, getting increasingly dirty looks from everyone going past me – and to make matters worse, Harriett reappeared with a “I don’t want them now…” and flounced off to buy shoes.