I started running a bath and threw in two of the champagne-scented bath bombs that my ex-girlfriend’s mother had given me for Christmas. They didn’t smell like champagne to me. They smelt like bath bombs.

So I threw on the robe that I stole from the hotel we stayed at for Rob’s wedding, and shuffled to the kitchen, leaving the hallway window to steam up slightly as the fog from the too-hot water billowed out onto the landing, and i got to the fridge and found the mostly empty bottle of prosecco that Sally had left open last week after coming home at 6am on her birthday morning, before she’d fallen asleep and decided she was too grown up now (and too alone) for afters. It was flat. I had a sip.

I poured a bit in the bath and it still didn’t smell like champagne. It didn’t even smell like prosecco. It still just smelled like bath bombs.