I wonder what happened to Angie Thomas, who was my girlfriend when I was at university. We lost touch a long time ago. It was she who introduced me to fado, that wonderfully evocative Portuguese music which speaks of sadness with an Arabic lilt. I have been listening to it a fair bit recently.
But not just that. I have also been playing Transvision Vamp, a punk bank who now sound deliciously dated. My daughter reckons they are “quite cool but a little bit alarming”. Certainly, the modern lot cannot do blood-curdling screams like Wendy James.