As we sipped tea in his office after our tour, we chatted about why the United States was then mired in production difficulties, unable to make much of the personal protective equipment that people wanted. “American manufacturers constantly asked themselves whether making masks and cotton swabs was part of their ‘core competence.’ Most of them decided not.” He put down his teacup and looked at me. “Chinese companies decided that making money is their core competence, therefore they go and make masks, or whatever else the market needs.

“No, um, he’s gone to McKinsey.” Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Management consultant.”

He couldn’t see how it made any difference to Tesco’s grand plans if he gave his presentation on Friday instead of tomorrow. But his manager insisted. It was irritating to be subject to someone else’s arbitrariness. It was just a culture of performative zeal. McKinseyites were supposed to be the shock troops of capitalism, sacrificing themselves to smash through problems. James was supposed to be eagerly hurling himself into the fray. But he couldn’t quite get himself geed up.

Roland grimaced. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.” And then, “You know, I appreciate it. Million quid… yeah, great. Always useful. And I know Scotland’s a small country. But really, this stuff isn’t cheap. Oil and gas in Aberdeen is turning over billions. They probably spend a million quid a year on taxis. I think you really want to be thinking more like ten million, to make it worthwhile. It’s not a pizza-delivery app we’re building here.” The advisers were taken aback, as if they’d taken a chipolata to a dick-waving contest. Roland was delighted with himself.

But it’s something, when you think about it, how many babies were brought into those places, with rats as big as cats, roaches the size of mice, splinters the size of a man’s finger, and somehow survived it. You don’t want to think about those who didn’t; and, to tell the truth, there’s always something very sad in those who did, or do.