The midday sun was shining brightly and my friend was reading the Sunday papers in his garden. By his right hand was a tall glass of gin 'n' tonic, over plenty of ice, with a hefty dash of Angostura bitters and loads of lemon zest, just how he liked his G&Ts. Lunch was beginning to smell good.
Nearby, his seven-year-old son was racing the neighbour's kid round and round on their bikes. It was a hot day - too hot for mowing lawns, for example. So the peals of children's laughter - oh, and the clink of ice cubes against cold glass - were the only sounds my friend could hear. Idyllic.
Suddenly, one of his son's shouts brought him up short. Cutting a corner, and overtaking his playmate in so doing, the lad cried: "I'm going to cheat - like Schumacher!"
My friend says he can't remember ever talking to his seven-year-old about Michael's many skirmishes with Formula One fair play, and he was therefore sufficiently disturbed by the fact that a normal healthy English kid would cite Schumi as the archetype of cheating in 21st century sport that he related the story to me the next time we met.