It has become something of a routine, if something that only happens once a year can be called a routine, that before we get on the Eurotunnel train and head for France, we get a drink in the terminal building and buy a newspaper.

What’s daft is that although my wife reads some of it (on this occasion the story about the cute royal toddler plus obligatory photos), we generally end up throwing it away several days later having only looked at the first few pages, and that rather half-heartedly.

But it’s a tradition now, so we follow it dutifully without asking questions!