It’s very rare for me to feel that my life is incomplete. I have an enormous supply of linen pillowcases starched and folded in a cupboard under the stairs and 800 Earl Grey tea bags in the kitchen cabinet. The family is well. The work/life balance could be a lot worse.

But a gaping hole appeared to me last week, an absence of gigantic proportion. And what shape was it? It took the form of a trifle bowl.