It's teenagers who are the problem. We're so desperate in adolescence to stop being children that we don't think to preserve the state of mind that as adults, we would love to interrogate. Sometimes it comes back to me – not just sense-triggered Proustian rush but more, through staring and doing nothing, exclusively when not trying, the feel of occupying a half-formed little brain. I think it was more focused on fantasy, but who's to say how much of memories that old is still real?

Ugh, fine, if you're not going to allow me one inch of wank-hat here.

It's been done to death, childhood nostalgia. Twenty years ago the uni discos were playing the Mysterious Cities of Gold theme at me and cunts were shouting 'Genius!'