Anyone who knows grief knows that one of its special horrors is its capacity to surprise.

There you are, going along and minding your own business, when out of nowhere, grief smashes you in the face.

In grief you hunch your shoulders, primed at all times for attack. Let down your guard and you will pay.

Making my coffee this morning – a comforting ritual of grinding and frothing; Percol’s Black and Beyond beans; chrome; pressure – my brother Anthony was mentioned on Desert Island Discs. Apparently he once described conductor-castaway Harry Rabinowitz as “the UK’s best-kept secret”.

Son Giorgio, doing his homework, pricked up his ears. He was proud! “Anthony’s on the news!”

I smiled and quickly turned away, the toasted Vogel’s suddenly sandpaper in my throat, tears squirting absurdly from my eyes. Comic-book tears and my belly shuddering. An hour later, I still have not caught my breath.

I let down my guard. And I paid.