I’ve never been in a band. But I have been to a youth hostel with four babies, which is sort of the same thing. Everywhere we turned there was singing, selfies, strangers coming up to us in the street and women getting their boobs out – it was the Small Faces, but with actual small faces.
My God, how I love youth hostels. In all their strange, intergenerational, shared washing-up sponges and boot-room glory, they are the best of us. You can keep your sponsored hotel stays and luxury apartments as far as I’m concerned. Give me a fluorescent-lit kitchen with five electric hobs and a roll of stickers to label your milk any day.
