She reached a crescendo, and looked like she expected a burst of thunderous applause. The journalists folded their arms and remained impassive. One rubbed his nose. Another yawned. I thought, you should treat this lady with respect. You will soon.

Dr Morton surveyed them, a smile on her face.

Mr Jordan whispered in my ear. ‘Look at them sitting there like puddings. Angela has created more animated machines. I bet she can’t wait to see how they’ll react to them. To you.’

He stepped forward.

‘Let me show you something,’ he said, without any formalities.

The screen behind us flickered into life, and there was a shot of this very room, as it usually looked. Full of immobile old people and their relatives.

‘This is a typical care home. This one, a year ago. You may think it’s a photograph. It’s not. It’s a film. Look outside the window – the leaves on the trees are moving. The people in the picture are not. They’re old. They have various physical and mental ailments.’

He paused.

‘And they are bored out of their minds. If they have any minds left.’

There was a stirring in the audience. These were strong words from the CEO of a care home business.

‘You’d find the same scene in pretty much any care home in the UK. Or anywhere else in the world where old people are farmed out by their families.’

The audience stirred again. He’d got through to them.

‘Any of you fancy ending up like this?’

There was silence.

‘Thought not. Neither do I. And honestly – you can quote me on this – of course – you can quote me on all of this – it’s a disgrace. This scene is shameful. This is how one of the richest countries in the world treats its old people. We get better and better at prolonging life, but we don’t know what to do with the people who then won’t die. And we’re in denial. Because we see old people as them, not us. We don’t think about it being us in those crappy chairs, bored witless, smelling of piss. And then, all of a sudden, it is us. At which point, we’re fucked. Sorry. It’s true, and I refuse to varnish the point.

‘Wake up, people. I’m not having it. I’m not going to put up with it. Not because I’m a philanthropist, or a saint. I’m not. I’m a businessman. I just don’t fancy this.

‘So I’ve done something about it.’

He turned to me, and beckoned me forward. I stepped up to the lectern. I looked out at the journalists and Mr Jordan stood beside me. A few of the cameras clicked.