I'm back home visiting my parents and, as is becoming increasingly customary for such trips, I've been rooting through the loft so my mother can do a clear-out.
Amid the stacks of old magazines, with their enthusiastic but awry cover proclamations - "Hope: are they the new Wham?" wonders one - I found a small pocket organiser with a solitary diary entry, for Monday 2 April 1990. Although I was just shy of my 9th birthday when I wrote it, this vivid account of a holiday in "NORTHUMBULAND OR HOWEVER YOU SPELLIT" eerily foreshadows the literary sparkle of this very blog, and demonstrates the youthful joyfulness of my salad days:
"Went to Holy Island and we went to the museum. Dad needed the toilet for two hours. And I got a headache. We had a picnic in the car. And went to a castle. And then we went home."