For weeks, the solar eclipse had been built up as the astronomical event of the century. Newspapers carried breathless warnings, television presenters gazed earnestly at the skies, and experts told us to prepare for an experience we would never forget. Special glasses were purchased, viewing parties organised and people travelled considerable distances to witness this spectacular event.

And then it happened. Or, more accurately, it didn’t seem to happen very much at all. We were told the birds would stop singing, that owls would start hooting and creatures of the night would pad around the garden looking confused.

There was a bit of a darkening, the temperature dropped slightly and everyone stood around looking upwards, trying to work out whether they were actually seeing anything. Those wearing the special glasses discovered that the Sun was still, rather disappointingly, the Sun.

After all the hype, anticipation and warnings that we were about to witness something extraordinary, it turned out to be a few minutes of standing outside squinting at the sky.

The eclipse itself was undoubtedly an impressive piece of celestial mechanics, but as a spectator event it was a spectacular disappointment. There was no dramatic soundtrack, no fireworks and certainly no explanation for why everyone had been told to take the day off work.

Perhaps the lesson is simple: never believe the hype. The next eclipse can pass me by. I’ll watch it on the television afterwards, preferably with a cup of tea.