So nice Geoffrey Howe dies and the popular press cannot resist gleefully reporting that this unfortunate event occurred shortly after attending a jazz concert. Hmmm. I suppose it’s inevitable that it will emerge that this happened just after a drum solo of thirty one and bit bars or after the bandleader said “yes, alright then thanks for your generous applause we’ll play an extra hour if you like..?”

Or possibly: “Ladies and gentleman we’ve just reached the open-mic part of our evening and first up to sing “Summ-ah-tiiime is..”

Although it is not known to whom he was listening prior to his exit there are those musicians who would eagerly covet having something to do with the final moments of a long-serving tho’ redeemingly treacherous Thatcherite.

Personally I am just glad he was actually at a bloody jazz concert. I’d like to think he even bought a ticket, too.

(Some years ago a promoter dropped dead in the very act of paying me immediately after a concert.  It has always upset me that the last sound he heard was my decidedly iffy harmonica playing. For months after that incident the band would look worried; roll their eyes and make the sign of the cross if it looked as if I was about to play it. Eventually I gave up.)