I got held up queuing into a festival when they were the Next Best Thing way down the bill one afternoon years back and was gutted I missed them.

I look back on the way I was then: a young, stupid kid who committed that terrible crime. I want to talk to him. I want to try to talk some sense to him, tell him the way things are. But I can’t. That kid’s long gone, and this old man is all that’s left. I got to live with that.