I saw the mobile safety van on the bridge that day and I knew I was going a bit quick, so I squeezed the brake pedal gently – you never just slam the anchors on when you see a mobile camera because it’s a) dangerous, and b) doesn’t look especially elegant, frankly.

And then I hoped against hope that the camera was pointing the other way, somehow, or better still wasn’t switched on.

I reckon I’d been doing 82mph, perhaps 83mph, which to be perfectly honest is the sort of speed I usually cruise the A23 at if it’s dry, mostly empty and there is broad daylight in the sky, all of which were present that particular lunchtime.

All I did then was wait. And hope – that the letter would never come, and that the prosecution for a minor speeding offence would never happen.