When the erstwhile appetites dwindle – as they surely must – there is no reason not to replace them. Much of the consternation about what to do instead arises from the mistaken belief that the past had it all. The past however quite literally disappears in the present. It is accordingly no indignity to contemplate what else one might do to fulfill whatever ambition of production persists. When I was in prep school in the Upper Sixth Form preparing for final exams in May of 1968 I occupied what little leisure I had by going to the back field behind the tennis courts and lay in the sun to get a tan. Afterwards in June I flew to Europe where my parents, my sister and I spent a month on the Costa Brava near Barcelona. By the time we subsequently reached Paris en route to Stockholm I was so brown that my friend Ricardo Schmeichler who arranged to meet me on the Avenue des Champs-Élysées didn’t recognize me.