Many Monaco residents will have received summonses to appear for questioning by Monaco law enforcement concerning an alleged ongoing investigation into child pornography. The appearance in one’s inbox of such an email can be rather disturbing to say the least. When I got my first one I racked my brains for several minutes trying to remember if I had ever committed a sex crime, bearing in mind that nowadays the most innocent gesture can be misinterpreted.

Another topic favoured by the scammers is financial malfeasance. Perish the thought that anyone in the Principality has ever stepped across the boundary from avoidance to evasion. Apparently some people have become very nervous and have been silly enough to open an attachment from the online crooks and that’s that. Something called malware takes over your Hewlett Packard and all your log-ins and passwords are filched for nefarious purposes.

When our editor was contacted recently by the police his first reaction was that it was another scam, but after they called back rather insistently and invited him into the upside-down Noah’s Ark in Fontvieille for a friendly chat he duly accepted.

“Ask for Cybercrime at Reception,” said the friendly policeman.

The chief has since then been helping the police with their cybercrime investigations to such an extent that he’s mostly not in the office. The task has fallen to me to fill in during his absences, and, I can tell you, its a thankless task.

So, when the opportunity came to go to a chiropractor in Italy I jumped at the chance, although jumping has been very painful in recent months.

I was hoping that Mario would fix my back and my bad knee and my not very good thigh by checking out my spine and doing the necessary. Mrs Daniels had convinced me and if it went badly I would blame her.

Mario is super. He speaks English with an American accent, but I could deal with that if only he could reduce the pain. Super Mario only added to the agony for what seemed like a very long time but was only 15 minutes. I am afraid to admit I swore loudly and shouted every time he cracked my bones, but being Italian he didn’t seem to mind.

Leaving his office in Ventimiglia Old Town I did feel much better, but I put this down to the fact I was no longer being tortured horizontally, vertically, and many stages in-between.

We stopped for a restorative glass of local red before taking the train back to Monaco Monte-Carlo. We would have stayed for a second glass were it not for the fact I was needed back in the newsroom for the vital evening shift.

The policeman who checked documents at Monaco Garavan shook his head when I proffered my driving licence as ID, but he was law enforcement with a sense of humour. My passport was too incriminating. My other half had nothing with her, to which the policeman said: “You’ll have to come with us.”

I said “Yes,” very quickly, since I believe it’s always best to fully cooperate from the outset. “This is my wife,” I blurted, to which he said. “Yes, I can see that.”

Back to Monte-Carlo. The train was 35 minutes late and an impatient crowd stood waiting to surge forward once the doors had opened.

“Attention!” exclaimed the woman facing me as I took my first resolute step onto the platform and her left foot. With so much pain in the world, it’s best to spread it around.

Monte-Carlo Diary is published in the interests of journalistic diversity and any views or opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect those of the publishers.