We decide to be daring and invite Trish and Tod to eat socially distanced lunch on our terrace. We make elaborate plans to get them swiftly through the apartment and outside, which will involve my leaving the front door on the latch and shouting instructions at them from the kitchen on how to proceed. We take an old table out onto the terrace for us to sit at and agree to move the terrace table a suitable distance away for them.

And this is where the problems start: Firstly “The writer” sites the table directly in front of the terrace door, out of which they must step. Getting out will now involve their smashing the door into the table then edging round the ensuing mess to sit down.

I move ‘their’ table closer to ‘our’ table – still at what I regard as a perfectly safe distance.

“The Writer” narrows his eyes and pronounces it “too close”. He drags it further back, thereby ensuring that, once more, no-one can get out of the door.

We drag the table back and forth until we both lose our temper. At this point, I find a tape measure and hurl it onto the ground.

Triumphantly, I discover that where I wanted to put “their” table was exactly 1.5 metres away from the other one. I crow.

“The Writer” announces that he doesn’t care what anyone says, he’s sticking to 2 metres. I sigh, move it to two metres and look forward to shouting scurrilous gossip to our friends at the tops of our voices.

This is when the rain starts and we realise we have to move the whole operation – that is the small, folding table – indoors, this time distancing it from the kitchen table.

“The Writer” takes charge, positions the table to his satisfaction with the aid of the tape measure and stands back, satisfied. That’s the point at which I discover that, because of where he’s put it, I now can’t get to the fridge, the sink, the worktop or the rubbish bin. Since our visitors are kindly bringing most of the food, I need to unpack it, plate it, throw away the wrapping in which they have brought it – all of which necessitates my accessing the very areas he has rendered inaccessible.

We do a bit more manoeuvring, plan to buy smaller chairs and finally reach grumpy agreement.

The doorbell rings and Tod and Trish arrive laden with delicious food, manage to make their way up the hall without touching the sides, take one look at the uncomfortable dining area and say in unison “Oh, I thought we were eating outside”!

We do.