I visit a company in Brussels about four times a year. It makes for a pleasant break from my usual routine – the client’s friendly; the city offers moules, frites, beer, waffles and exceptionally fine chocolate.

Since my last trip in the spring, their office has been completely refurbished. Gone are the poky little corridors – everything’s now airy and light.

We wandered along a row of lovely glass-walled offices towards our meeting room. Familiar sounds could be heard from one – the crack of the cane, the yelps of the girl being punished. We glanced in as we walked past: she had just clambered to her feet, and was rubbing her bottom, tearfully. She was apologising, he was sitting at his desk completing the requisite paperwork.

(Actually, no such luck. But as the idea crept into my mind, I confess that, momentarily, I quite lost track of what my client was saying…)