It’s nearing three in the morning, and I still haven’t dug out my copy of When Harry Met Sally. I’d rather just tuck into the movie – for the 13th or 14th time. But in lieu of that, I can think of no greater tribute – hat tip to her man Harry, who read the last page of a book first but still knew when he hit pay-dirt with a woman who took an hour and a half to order a sandwich – than to stay up and moan.