The rower was neither a young man nor particularly old. His tumble of grey hair spoke of the passage of time, but his spare frame was that of a youth. He was a ‘man-child’, his navy blue lycra ‘all-in-one’ emphasising this dichotomy – conferring on him a certain Spartan air, [...]

“This is The Salter Programme.” The voice was British, educated, with a working class burr. “I am calling from Tokyo, and want to inform you that your film script has been selected by our cultural exchange programme.”

In the depths of my sleep, a niggle prompts me to turn over, and the resulting disarrangement causes me to frown in annoyance. I am now aware of my retina, and the daylight penetrating the thin membrane of my closed eyelid.