I'm a little bit sad there isn't a bit more photographic evidence of my late teens and early 20s as I was four stone lighter and often went out without a bra on without them flapping around my knees. But I am glad that no one will ever get to witness the time I was was left stood crushed in New Street Station, dumped, weeping under the departures board. Braless and thin.
Albini has a long history as a vehement critic of the music industry. His seminal 1993 essay Stereolab a gentle poke, attacks the industry's coercion of bands into believing they must sign opaque contracts at all costs
All that said; even though you couldn't pay me to do it all over again; and even though I'd rather pick my own eyeballs out with a garden trowel than go through childbirth again - lately, I've noticed the odd seemingly broody feeling wash over me from time to time. WHAT?? No seriously, WHAT?
This trend, which appears to be gaining traction quite rapidly, is a push back in time to the past, a few decades ago. A push for 'retro' products. Walking around in London nowadays, looking in shop windows, I see more and more products whose designs are clearly inspired by the designs of the past; and capturing in some way the essence of those past products. Retro radios, retro cars such as the Mini Cooper, retro kitchen equipment... and now I am able to understand why a retro version of my own ZX Spectrum computer design appears to be attracting interest like wildfire.
Becoming a grown up adult means moving to a new area of the world, to prove that it isn't where you live that is causing your lack of success. It's a chance to show everyone you grew up with that you're better than them, because you have ambition: ambition to go and fail in an area with higher rent prices.
Hearing the completed versions of Too Many Broken Hearts and Especially For You in particular, were moments in my professional life that I will never forget, the door was wide open and I was at the centre of this incredible moment in time. You just knew that something magical was happening. It was very exciting. Only when I realise now that these are distant memories, do I appreciate how lucky I was. The great thing about this tour is, I can re-live those feelings and share it with the fans who were there with me.
On and on I burrowed through the various strata of dead high street favourites, a Russian Doll of memories. And although these bags looked empty, each one, in fact, contained a recollection, evoked a tiny story, a forgotten feeling.
Slowly, the dark sky is gently rinsed by hints of blue. Dark blue, light blue, lighter... And gold wash. So emerges the silhouettes of pink coloured clouds, rejoicing at the dawn of a new day.
Through it all, Anne Kirkbride remained one of the Street's most robust pillars - the youngest of that generation of stars who gave their whole working life to a TV soap, came into people's homes three times a week, entertained them and, in return, earned a place in our collective affection denied much bigger screen stars.
I think it's normal to feel a bit weird at this time of year. We build up Christmas to such a fever pitch of twee imagination and rose-tinted memories that it can end up feel disappointing and miserable. Sometimes, surrounded by a barrage of Good Will to All Men and Joy to the World and Christmas Cheer, we feel lost and alone, longing for a feeling we can't find anymore.
The smell of one-sided toast with melted butter - it was always done on just one side under the grill, crisp and melty. Tea for the grown-ups, milk for us. Sitting by the fire that my grandmother had set when she got up at half six, as she did every morning.
Oh we're a funny breed, I think as I exit the cafe, white headphones in ears and head bowed low to play battle against the early autumn wind, already anticipating my next solo coffee shop excursion.
Why is Hollywood fixated on turning everything from the childhood of twenty and thirty somethings into a movie franchise? Because we love nostalgia! Nobody knows that better than Doug Walker, also known as the Nostalgia Critic, who writes and hosts a web series scrutinising the treasures of our youth with comically brutal honesty.
Michael Grade, onetime Controller of BBC 1, introduced Tony and they settled down on a sofa for a fascinating walk through Tony's musical life, interspersed with renditions of his songs by guests ranging from Marti Webb, Joe McElderry and Rhydian to one very special guest who, like the biblical good wine, was kept till last.
On the day that the world's arguably biggest, definitely first, plasticine superstar climbs back out of his pencil case and makes his return to public life, he has found time in his red carpet schedule to join in HuffPostUK's third birthday celebrations, with these three golden nuggets of advice.
"You can't cancel!" shrills the voice on the phone. "It's in the diary. That's final!" Though I'm hardly a model of reliability, it is my friend who flakes on our arrangements most, and I'm offended by the implication of her words. What does she mean 'I can't cancel'? Why does she care suddenly?