But before that, a story. Getting to the place, we found a closed speakeasy-like door and no sign of any activity. We turn the knob; it opens, onto the sort of stairs that Joseph Roth said lead down to heaven and are paved with smooth sins, and no-one else. Down at the bottom, we find all three bands playing that evening sitting around, and a barman, who informs me that “we’re not open yet, the doorman hasn’t turned up”.
Strange philosophical issue. We’re not open, because the guy who keeps the door closed (to some people) isn’t here.