So, we’re almost ready to move to our new home. Our belongings are suitably de-kinked: three large sealed crates bear the more pervy of our books; the implements are carefully stashed in a pair of hockey bags and a tightly-taped poster tube.

The long box marked (and full of) “School Canes” lies ready to be transported in my car – deemed too shocking to leave for the guys moving our belongings. So too is our other wooden box – the one containing the tawse, bible and rosary beads, its lid inscribed with a cross and the well-worn words “Holy Trinity Roman Catholic School for Girls. Discipline Records and Correctional Procedure Guidelines”. I may have a fair collection of literature on the, ahem, history of education on the bookshelves for the team to pack, but if they’re religious types, they might not be impressed with our favourite scholastic artefact. (Actually, even if they’re not religious types, they might not be impressed!).

The whole thing’s very exciting – not least, the thought of our first evening in the new place. See, the truck with our stuff won’t arrive until the morning after we move in – and the place we’re renting is unfurnished. Our first night will therefore be spent in a near-empty house – sleeping on an inflatable bed, accompanied by one small suitcase, the boxes of implements that I’ve transported, and not much else.

I shall be the property agent, we’ve decided, responding to reports that a squatter’s been seen inside the supposedly-empty house. I shall catch Haron red-handed, although she may well try to hide. (Hey, it’ll be a good way to explore!).

She won’t want to be taken to the police for breaking in; a sound caning is sure to follow. I’m sure it won’t be the last night she’ll spend sleeping, striped, on her front in our new home!