“So when they ask me about my ‘A’ levels I tell them. And then they kind of lean in towards me, but they can’t say anything, because I don’t ask them.” I am in awe, but it does mean that we can hardly ask each other what bands we like, so the conversation sags slightly, until over the third pint he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out an exquisitely constructed joint. “Let’s start as we mean to go on.”

In the morning the sink in my room is blocked. The caretaker just looks at me: he doesn’t even ask.