I’m almost ashamed of not having come to Lucio Battisti’s glorious Anima Latina (1974) before the lockdown, since in a way it had been right under my nose the whole time; I grew up with Battisti’s music. Born in Rome, my mum had been a teen pop obsessive – a package she received in 1966 from the Official Italian Beatles Fan Club was addressed to ‘Beatle-person N 643’ – and Anglophile, to the extent that she eventually married a long-haired English man and moved to the UK.

At home and in the car, together with the Beatles and various international acts she liked – Abba, The Bee Gees, Billy Joel – we listened to recent releases by Italian artists like Antonello Venditti, Claudio Baglioni and Battisti. His first album after he had ceased working with lyricist Mogol – E Già, released in 1982 – was an excursion into moody electro pop that had me speculating about how its songs might all be made to fit the plot of a fantasy/sci-film, slotting in like Queen’s music did in Highlander.