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‘I thought: I should give Joost a call.’

‘Great. How’s things then? Prick still completely in order?’

That’s the nice thing about old friendships. The fact that you call up your scholarly friend after twenty-five years and he inquires first of all about the health of your prick.

‘Exceptional,’ I replied.

‘Good. Shall we go for a few beers again?’

‘That’s why I’m calling you.’

‘Nice. Just say when.’

I mentioned a date.

‘Fine. In Amsterdam where you are or in Leiden where I am? Or don’t you live in Amsterdam anymore? Alkmaar? Then let’s do it on my patch in Leiden. Huis De Bijlen, do you know it? Eight o’clock. We’ll have a bite to eat first. Nice!’

With him it was no sooner said than done, and he took control, as if he had rung me or had at least been on the point of doing so.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘It’ll be nice to see you again, Joost.’ I hadn’t changed a bit either, immediately ready to accept Joost’s leading role.

‘Okay. If you like you can sleep over. Loads of room.’

He still had that slight Amsterdam accent.