On a perfectly normal day in May - a Wednesday to be precise - with no dragons in the skies (or none that I notice) and no curious mists swirling around Hillhead Tube Station, I travel to Glasgow University to discuss new possibilities in impossibility with Robert Maslen.
Let us go back some 70 years to that begrimed period in the immediate aftermath of the Second World War when this newspaper was called the Glasgow Herald and was headquartered in Buchanan Street, a stone's throw from Central Station.
It's been a couple of weeks since I read Janice Galloway's new collection of short stories in preparation for our meeting, and they're still resonating in my head. They're thoughtful, accurate, sorrowful, dark, infinitely tender, angry, memorable.
It is more than 90 years since the world first glimpsed Gatsby and the green light, more than 160 since Moby Dick surfaced to lukewarm acclaim and a century since the birth of Saul Bellow, yet the literary world is still besotted by the coming of a Great American Novel whose rapture will render all else somehow irrelevant.
The winner of numerous literary awards for her novels, and shortlisted for several more, Jane Gardam has a great affinity with the short story too, sparked off by reading Joyce's Dubliners when she was a girl.