The fantasy that someone might go to a show and take Mr Kweller home for a hug and a milo is lovely but also as implausible as the one involving Ben performing upon them titanic feats in the bedroom. Both are imagined on bequest of the same impulse.

But I’m sure there were equal measures of both fantasies running through the Zoo’s collective consciousness that evening. There must have been, his pants were impossibly, impossibly tight. Much has been made in the practise room of my ‘fitted pants’ but his jeans were an altogether different story. Described as ‘painted on denim’ by a friend, Mr Kweller’s upper half may have been all ‘boy next door’ but his lower half did not connote ‘the hug’.