In the late 1990s, a kitchen salesman appeared at my doorstep. At that time, we lived in Scotland. Being confused, I put him in. I had a part-time library job and a baby under my arms. Did you look like you spent £ 30,000 on the kitchen?

After 30 minutes at our company, the salesman didn’t think so either. “What is your profession?” He asked, trying to figure out the extent of our solvency. My ex-husband thought wildly. “Gardening!” He finally said. The salesman made a gap. Our overgrown garden was about to come to the kitchen window.

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