Now we’re talking about the afterlife. So shoot me.

It’s the first day of summer in Paris and a little – but only a little – tipple has been taken. We were chewing over melancholy and music and Mic Christopher and the unbearable being of lightness and all sorts of stuff you’d expect of people drinking on an empty head on a sunny afternoon in the Bastille district.

But we’ll come back to that. Right now, I want to front this piece with something Gemma Hayes said as she was ordering her second glass of wine: