Virginia Woolf lived by Hyde Park, a few streets over from the Royal Albert Hall. I can just imagine her getting up from her desk and getting into her overcoat and going for a walk down Hyde Park, crossing it and a century, and meeting me for a cup of tea. I don’t even like tea, I’d say. Virginia? Why art thou so sad? This is one of my tinglier days, she’d hopefully reply, I could outwit Winston Churchill.