Music was just a part of his world. It was a mysterious noise that came from a speaker the size of Jodrell Bank. People would sing at the drop of an A flat and it all felt like a film, apart from the lack of an orchestra and a lot of swinging dancers in their one down, one along house. Potatoes were peeled and floors were vacuumed to snippets of a remembered phrase from last night’s visit to the Odeon. A door had been opened and he was going to race through it.