Ben Machell tries his hand as a Hampton Court tour guide

We arrived and began to explore. Because I’d read Wolf Hall and because I also fundamentally really enjoy the sound of my own voice, I appointed myself tour guide, holding forth on Henry VIII. The problem was that, within about three minutes, I was having to explain the concepts of execution, beheading and, to a lesser extent, the Church of England to a pair of nursery school children. ‘Why did he chop his wives’ heads off, daddy?’ ‘Um, because he was a very jealous man,’ I told them. ‘It’s silly to be jealous,’ my girlfriend added. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Very silly.’

I dropped the tour-guide schtick. Instead, to lighten the mood, we amused ourselves sniggering at old portraits of Tudors, with their beady little eyes and pallid, gormless expressions. Better still were the palace kitchens. There was a guy in full 16th-century dress, sitting by an open fire roasting joints of beef on a spit. Jesus, I thought. What a job. The sheer level of respect he commanded from the whole room was palpable, retired English Heritage members swarming him like groupies. How do you even get a job like that, I silently wondered? ‘That’s going to be you in 20 years’ time,’ my girlfriend whispered. I smiled at the very thought. If I play my cards right, you never know.