So, my Scandinavian hotel had me thinking kinky thoughts even by breakfast on the first day. By lunchtime, I’d discovered a leaflet in our meeting room describing the hotel’s history: in Norwegian – not a language with which I’m overly familiar.

I could decipher that it had been built in 1914 – but something mysterious had happened between 1952 and 1974.

Ah, yes. Now I had it. The hotel had been converted during that period into a girls’ reformatory, renowned for its strict regime. That wonderful but windswept beach outside? Scene of early-morning punishment runs. Nude.

My hotel room? Formerly home to six girls in bunk beds – in the days when the showers weren’t warm and en suite, but bitterly cold and in the open air, at the back of the accommodation block.

And that small building, set aside from the main building? Dreaded by all the girls: home to the whipping frame. It was said that very few of the inmates ever returned for a second visit, so thoroughly were the punishments administered…

I was growing to rather like the place, and rather wish I hadn’t travelled here alone!