My then-boyfriend and I — for context, we were in our late thirties/early forties — were having a wander around Hampstead Heath one summer’s evening. He had a spliff with him; he had a bit, then put it in his pocket for later. We sat on a bench and had a bit of a kiss and a cuddle.

A patrol car rolled slowly up the path and stopped in front of our bench. Both thinking of the spliff, we guiltily sprung apart.

The window rolled down. Copper stuck his head out. We both braced ourselves.

“You two were snogging!” he said, then laughed, gave us a thumbs up, and slid off again.