For anybody who sweltered through it, the summer of 1976 in the UK will always be remembered as one of the hottest and driest.
This is one of those random events that leave a smear of residue, a small fluff ball of memory that clings to the fabric of life when so much else is washed away.
According to the labels stuck on their foreheads, these two small elephants are called Sohoni and Sarwate.
If this was a proper rock n roll story, it would have turned out to be the night of my life, the band playing a dazzling set that reached ever-higher pinnacles of exhilaration and brilliance. But it wasn’t.