Andy Warhol’s Exposures is not the sort of book I would usually buy. A whole load of pictures of ‘celebrities’ like Mick and Bianca, Halston, Diana Vreeland, Truman Capote, Jackie Onassis and Salvador Dali? Moi? But when the man himself is present, and ready to sign one’s copy, then it’s a slightly different matter.

I can’t remember how much the book cost, and it’s not on hand for me to check, a loan of it having been sought for display at Modern Art Oxford. But whatever it was is a small fraction of its present value. A check on eBay and the like shows copies for sale at £600 or more. I dare say the likelihood of an escalation in value was in my mind when I handed over my money. I was not well off in those days — am not especially so now.

I have noted that most signed copies available for purchase are decorated in much the same way as mine is. It struck me at the time of signing that it was good of Andy not only to write his name but also to add decorative heart-shaped flourishes on the cover and title page with his black felt-tipped pen. Clearly he did this for all the boys and girls.

While carrying out the operation, he did not seem much inclined to offer small talk. He did admit, though, that he was impressed with his glimpse of Oxford’s social life. “Oh, it’s grand.”