In which LaFlamme's timely appearance saves Tony from more unnecessary pain at the hands of band manager George Lyttleton.

It was another throwback to Lyttleton’s 70’s musical pedigree.

“I’ve written a piece for the gatefold,” he said. What kind of gate is only four inches wide? I took the hand-written note and gazed at it blankly. “I think a written piece adds weight to the release, don’t you?” he continued. “We want it to have impact. It can’t just go off like a damp squid.” Once again, Lyttleton’s seafood obsession coloured his language. This time I was almost being drawn in to his world and finding the image of a damp squid going off sufficiently daunting.

Luckily at this point LaFlamme made a surprise appearance, arriving just in time to spare me having to read the piece. Lyttleton rose.

“LaFlamme,” he said, bowing his head slightly. This was unnecessary as she was already a head taller.

“I’m usually very good with names,” said LaFlamme, “but I’ve deliberately forgotten yours.”

Lyttleton shifted uneasily. “Well, I think we’re pretty much done here,” he said. There had been no mention of budget and that’s the way Lyttleton liked it. People like me should simply appreciate the privilege of working with such great talent and relish being a moth around a great flame.

“We can discuss costs later,” I suggested.

“Costs,” he said vaguely, as if unfamiliar with the term. “Yes. Of course.” He left to continue building his empire elsewhere.

LaFlamme meanwhile was flicking through Lyttleton’s photographs, casually dropping each in turn out of the open window.