Salvation of a sort came to hand. Somebody said in a loud, firm voice:
"Look, can we stop now? For the past four and a half hours we have had nothing but how boring is the sound of vuvuzelas, that they're the instruments of Satan, that they sound cheap and nasty and how you're sick of the sound of vuvuzelas. Now can we put it back in the box and get on with some work please?"
I looked around the office to see who it was.
It was me.