And I remember you telling us how you first met the plastics millionaire, your most famous collector, a man with his very own Dalí museum in St Petersburg, Florida. It was at the St Regis Hotel in New York in the 1950s, the innocent years. In the pee-pee room, naturally. They stood side by side in the row of polished white urinals. 'What was he doi

Velázquez wig

We journeyed on through the music and smoke, the chatter of conversation, Dalí leading the way with a cane he held like a bishop's sceptre. It had once belonged to Sarah Bernhardt and when it was stolen he missed it like the limb the great tragedienne had amputated. 'After they cut off her leg she kept performing her act. Genius is subtle. We find

'It is the obsession of repetition the Gods take note of.

'Surrealism is not a movement. It is a latent state of mind perceivable through the powers of dream and nightmare. It is a human predisposition. People ask me: What is the difference between the irrational and the surreal and I tell them: the Divine Dalí.'

Qué hablen. 'Let them talk. I want everyone to talk of Dalí. Even if they speak well of him.'

He had the most incredible memory. He could quote reams of poetry, opera, street songs, minute details on the most complex of subjects. He played the fool and when people treated him as one he stunned them to silence with his brilliance.

'Always wear a tie, Carlitos. It is the symbol of success.' That red tie whispered anarchy; anarchy on a plain of royal purple silk. You would have raised a wicked eye-brow in subtle acknowledgement.

Amanda Lear was absent. She was your greatest achievement, the boy who became the girl every girl wanted to be and every man desired. She was your very own Frankenstein, but all monsters forsake their master.