In 2 weeks time I will have finally left behind my thirties. So what better thing to do on the cusp of such a momentous stage in life than to regress to being 15 one last time and go and see Yazoo, who last performed together 25 years ago.
Within a few electronic pulses of ‘Nobody’s Diary’ I was transported back to impromptu teenage parties, cheap cider, menthol cigarettes and making out with anyone who would. I was rake thin, my clothes were tight and black, my arms adorned with silver bangles; my head with a floppy fringe.
But then I opened my eyes, and I was back in a concert venue, with 3000 of Bristol’s middle-youth, dressed like the middle-class, eco-conscious, balding adult I’ve become. Thankfully, no one had turned out in retro eighties clothing. Even Vince and Alf (who almost certainly calls herself Alison these days) looked comfortable with their twenty-first century selves – except when Alf decided to dance like she too was a teenager once more, and a look came over her face as if within herself she was asking the question – ‘is it acceptable to be doing this at my age?’ Hey, Alf, we were all consenting adults for a couple of hours, re-living the school disco. Thanks for the memories.