It was meant to be a different story but the call came late, at 21:51. Fifty-nine children had been shot or burned to death by a terrorist group in Nigeria. The words on the wire… bodies… ashes… discovered… bullet wounds… students… more than 300 this month.
In Venice it was carnival. In New York photographers clamoured for a shot of a new smartphone. Manchester United were trounced. Some couple discovered a stash of gold coins. We drank wine.
By morning the Nigerian report had dropped to the bottom of the page. The story was slept on. Some of us woke.