It’s very difficult to remember the music you heard when you were a kid. I’m not talking about the music that was playing. I’m talking about the music you heard. Twenty years on I know that I was allowed a record player in my room for the first time, on loan, and I know that I borrowed my parents’ original copy of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and played it over and over again. So what did I hear? I’m not sure.

I know there weren’t any other records to play, though, and Sgt.Peppers is a great children’s record anyway. It has cut-outs in the sleeve. It has the band playing dress-up. It ends with an almighty huge crash (actually not as noisy as it should have been but I got the idea). It has “When I’m Sixty-Four” and a song about a traffic warden and another song with calliopes and yet another one with farm animals. It has weird songs you can’t quite get the hang of, too – like all great children’s art it panders to the age you at the same time as making you feel that little bit older. It’s such a good children’s record I can’t imagine enjoying it now I’m grown-up.

But what was I thinking, what was I feeling, when I played it? I can’t remember – a wisp of sadness maybe at “She’s Leaving Home”? Irritation, yes, at something in “Fixing A Hole” – the way the chorus rose up and floated off? That’s as close as I can come. Meanwhile something else is playing, right now, and I’ve lost my remote. And I’ve got monthly report summaries to write. And I’m not sure there’s enough milk in the fridge.