So, Arnold Friedman, I suppose then was a man of about 60, I was just 33. Friedman thought I was bright and I think he wanted me to be a, sort of, protégé. He was friendly towards to me, he secretly arranged for me to do more clinics than everyone else and... and to be paid slightly more and, he introduced me to his daughter. I even... even wondered whether he thought of me as a potential son-in-law. And... and then there came a strange episode. I would meet him on Saturday mornings and tell him about interesting patients I’d seen in the week, and one Saturday I told him about a patient who, instead of having a headache after the zigzag, had awful abdominal pain and vomiting. And I said I wondered whether one should exhume the old Victorian term of abdominal migraine. I said, I’d seen a couple of other patients with this and suddenly, Friedman became a different man. He turned scarlet and he shouted and he said, 'What do you mean? Talking about an abdominal migraine. The word migraine comes from hemi-crania. It means a headache. You are working at the headache clinic. I will not have you talk about migraines without a headache!'

So, I... I sort of, drew back amazed; this is one of the reasons why the opening sentence in my Migraine book is: Headache is never the sole symptom of a migraine. And why the second chapter is entirely devoted to forms of migraine without a headache. But... but that was a small explosion. The bigger explosion came in the summer of '67. I would always go back to England in the summers and then, to my own great surprise, I... I wrote a book on migraine. And I sent a telegram to Friedman saying that somehow or other a book had just gushed out, that I’d taken it to a publisher who was interested and I hoped he might... Friedman might like it and might write a foreword. He... he sent back a telegram saying, hold everything for the moment.