One line echoing around walls, gathering more intensity on any given morning. The robin seems to sit higher in the tree, a sense of smallness emanating through a higher shrill. Do you remember the first record you ever bought? Or the first song you learned every word of? Life on Mars takes me back to that child sat on a cold kerbstone, holding a copy of NME like newfound treasure. I kick off my killer heels and pretend the carpet is a sun-soaked beach in Ibiza, or a lake of beer at a favourite nightclub; and get so hot I ditch the Terry Towelling t-shirt and dance, imagining all the strands of the past woven into one.