My husband has just shouted, “SHIT,” and disappeared round the corner to find Wi-Fi

9am, and I am standing outside Vanessa’s flat in Brixton, checking my phone for messages left on the “Siblings” Whatsapp group that my London sister created in order to organise my mother’s 80th birthday party.

Celebrations are to be held in Cornwall at 2pm tomorrow. So right now, on “Siblings,” it’s all about “E.T.A’s”. I’m unfamiliar with this acronym but sense it might be wise not to send a Whatsapp asking for clarification.

Three messages regarding E.T.A’s come in from my youngest brother, my oldest sister and my middle sister, who are travelling from Geneva, Devon and London respectively. Between them they number 15, including offspring. I discover they are already in transit.