I was just getting into journalism as the countries of Central Europe started to throw off the Soviet yoke, but I knew little about Romania and had hated it when I visited in 1986. I had just got my foot in the door at Scotland on Sunday, an Edinburgh-based Sunday paper, and I was asked to cover the Romanian revolution, propelling me from the obscure foreign news section to the front page.
His book is not going to be a classic (see above). Either Morrissey knows that - in which case the 'classic' label is a genuinely hilarious joke - or, horribile dictu, he believes it, in which case the book is likely to have all the humour and finesse of a statue produced by the Kim Jong-Il metallurgy factory for the glorification of the great leader.
One of my most abiding Olympic memories is of the Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci at the 1976 Montreal Games. As I recall, there was a heatwave that summer, one that scorched its way across the US like a smoldering fuse-wire, raging through cities and forests, melting tarmac, setting prairies alight and drying my lips to paper.