Fosca bizarrely soundtracked my American adventures in 2005, keeping me sane on the walk to and from a meaningless office job on a trading estate miles outside Seattle. It was a very lonely time of my life, I suppose, and having an English fop singing stuff into my ears that would have completely baffled everyone for a dozen miles around helped me think there was still hope.

Oh, I miss London. It's all very well out here but not the same somehow. It wouldn't be the same if I ever came back, either, though.