It was untidy; the quarters of someone not used to looking after herself; to seat himself he removed the stained cup and plate and a spatter of envelopes, sheets of opened letters, withered apple-peel, old Sunday paper, from a chair.

Lockdown remind you that what make you brothers is not blood but sufferation.

In France, clubs found they didn't need live musicians to get people to dance – just a disquaire who programmed dance records and moods for the evening. Such a place had a name too, a discotheque.

You and I till the end, don't need to pretend / Again and again, we'll stick together / Everything is alright, with you by my side / We won't say goodbye, we'll stick together