The young man sat quietly in reception, looking a little dishevelled, while I got on with the business of opening up, turning on lights, reading my emails, as the first of the workers came through mumbling “morning.” The day had begun.

I glanced across wondering what he might want and at the same time noticing he seemed to be wearing black shorts even though it was misty outside. The phone rang, and as I listened he walked towards me. He was wearing underpants!  They weren’t shorts. I juggled with what to say – should I mention the lack of trousers? My English upbringing suggested it was probably best not to draw attention to his nakedness.

Who knows it might be a la mode; young men’s trousers having slipped further and further down their bums, perhaps this was the next step, gone completely.

‘How can I help?’ I asked, (obviously I didn’t have any spare trousers) but hoping his answer was going to explain quite a lot.

‘I’ve lost my tent.’ He sat staring at me nonplussed.

Sometimes you just know it’s going to be one of those days, and you’ll never get to the bottom of the story. ‘Lost anything else?’