Our dinner guests had left, and I was about to turn in for the night when the doorbell rang. Into the flat piled a horde of old ECM friends, desperate to party. TPR had invited them over just a few minutes earlier.

Goodness knows how those with children had managed to find babysitters at such short notice, but DTJ asked to borrow a razor so that she could shave her armpits. She wanted to look her best on the kitchen dance floor.