ABOUT A THIRD OF A CENTURY AGO A party invite winged in under the heading “A Decade of Drivel”. The aim was to celebrate the ten years the co-hosts had known each other since they first met at university, and the music that flooded out of the stereo system had been carefully chosen to reflect the tastes of the era. Arriving on the dancefloor, I decided to amuse myself by identifying each successive track from its opening bars (“Da-de-da, da-da-da da-da” — The Stranglers’ “Peaches”) and then reproducing the lyrics — word perfect, naturally — until it was replaced by some equally resonant number from the days of Mrs Thatcher’s first administration.
All this went on for about four hours ( — The Jam’s “Going Underground”). By chance the fellow guests I spent most of my time with were Ian and Victoria Hislop. About half-way through, Victoria fixed me with a rather puzzled look and said — not her exact words,
