‘You want me to show you pictures of my father with Bruce Lee, training, very small group, with Yip Man in Kowloon. With me also, when I was young. My name is Bruce.’

And really the next sentence was understood and digested before Mr Wong continued.

‘I am named after Bruce Lee. Bruce Wong.’

This animated Mr Wong was really having quite a transformative experience.

Mr Smith wanted to go but Mr Wong said,

‘We take car, your car now, round to the front, give me ten minutes, I show you pictures. I will come down. No elevator. It is broken.’

Suddenly this man was a conversationalist supreme.

There was no choice as Mr Wong shut the door. Mr Smith had a moment of further disappointment in the architect, as he had failed to give access from the garage to the apartments. You parked your car and then were forced to go around to the front entrance. Who was he?

The thought that this might have been the only building he designed in his entire life shadowed Mr Smith’s rapidly developing off-kilter brain. He felt a moment of compassion: compassion for the mediocrity of the architect’s talent.

And a little concern at the thoughts and persona belonging to Mr Smith.

‘Come we go. You will enjoy. Wonderful man Bruce Lee, had a whole philosophy of life, I try to follow. I still train.’

When was this going to stop? It was like being herded into a sheep pen by a pack of dogs: there appeared to be no escape. If there was an invitation to go up however many flights to the eighth floor he was convinced he would decline. They arrived at the front of the building, where there was no parking allowed.

‘No parking, you stay with the car, your car now.’

As if Mr Smith was the most gullible idiot ever.

He was thinking of just leaving, letting Mr Wong show his pictures to the air, but he waited, and down came Mr Wong with a book. A published book. Not what was expected, and there, sure enough, was a picture on page sixty-five, well marked, of Bruce Lee and a man standing in the Shaolin White Crane pose, opposite each other, and along with the pose description underneath the photograph, were the names – Bruce Lee and Wang Bo Wong. Bruce Wong’s father, he assumed, and then Mr Wong confirmed the assumption.

‘My father. And there is me with Bruce Lee.’

Turning another page.

‘Let me show you girl I was boyfriend with.’

Strange phrasing thought Mr Smith; he turned the pages to reveal a beautiful girl in, as was described, a Gong Fu stance, the name below, Diana Lee Incosanto.

‘Bruce Lee was her godfather. My good friend. She and me are still good friends. You see he was a great man, Bruce Lee.’