Picture a Teal, perpetual querulousness of mien sharpened by the chill of the morning, shuffling fluffy-slippered across the freezing travertine from her bathroom, where the hot water’s run out, to her designer kitchen where, for all the glittering imported gadgets, she has trouble striking a match, the packet being so damp, to light the primus stove retrieved from the shed to make a cup of coffee on.