My God, I had almost forgotten those photographs! Buried for years in my cellar, left for the rats to gnaw upon, forgotten by all except the cleaning lady who supposedly had to lift the filing box every time she dusted the cabinet. Somehow I wish I hadn’t stumbled upon them while looking for that bottle of Guimaraens 1986 (of all bloody vintages!).

The moment I opened the box and peered inside memories came flooding back. The insisting letters from the press department, the perverse obnoxiousness of the music, the infuriating pretentions of the whole enterprise.

I should have kept the lid on, but curiosity was to be my downfall. And now I can’t stop looking, can’t stop reading those stupid vignettes over and over again, can’t stop laughing. Or is it crying? For goodness sake, I’m pathetic. At my age too!