So I walked down the street, past the crookedly parked cars which had been pushed around by floodwaters, and past the powerless cafe, still filled with an inch of mud (but still producing lattes to customers) and neogtiated intersections where the traffic lights were festooned with roofing insulation torn from some far residence.

I came to the homebrew shop. The floor was still sodden. What remained of the stock was stacked up on high shelves. There was no power. At the back the shopkeeper (a young man of about 25) sat on a milk crate, repairing the vacuum tubes of an ancient Japanese radio.

The love of these things can overcome any disaster it seems.

So many different models, so many different colours …