We haven’t even touched on poetry. “And the wave sings because it is moving” – that poem by Larkin – I had it on my fridge for a while, and then it was in a folded-up piece of paper by my bed for four years, because it moved me so much, and yet I couldn’t quite work out what it was about. Well, I think in the end it’s about death – but there’s more marrow in it.