Back in 1985, the Irish government asked me to attend the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe, which took place that year in Budapest. The theme was culture, hence the choice of a novelist, and a political ignoramus such as myself, to be the delegate from Ireland.
At the time the cold war was still distinctly warm, there was very little cooperation between east and west, and no one felt particularly secure. The conference rapidly degenerated into a slanging match between the American and Russian delegations, over the heads of us inconsequential Europeans.
