I relax, just a little. A talking point is established, Ken Levine does not seem dismayed by my appearance, question or sniffle, and his response has sparked a memory and, I think, a better question from me.

Agreement, but with the shortness and the sudden ending that most every interviewer fears. He doesn’t want to say anything more about this: his prerogative entirely, and quite frankly it was not a terribly interesting question on my part. Is there anything to be gained from pressing for more, or should I change tack entirely? I choose the latter, which immediately makes me feel awkward because it necessarily transforms this from a conversation into a more formalised question and answer session, and risks making me appear to read from a script rather than be able to adapt to what’s said.

Oh God, he thinks I’m digging for spoilers again. I try to explain: gamers and journalists alike are often fed so little information during the course of a game’s pre-release promotion that we may try to extract clues that may or may not be there from the small amount on offer.

I laugh, sympathising with his frustration, all too familiar with it myself from the perpetually-suspicious, perpetually-disappointed commenters on my own site who seem so determined that every game and every game-maker is guilty until proven innocent. That laugh helps so much. I can hear, on the recording, that his voice softens, warmth creeps in again and even now, several weeks after the event, I feel relief again. We understand each other again. We have a shared horror at how unpleasant the internet can be.