I rarely make nostalgic journeys. Traipsing down that golden road to an earlier time is something I have avoided thus far, but I do accept that I am being a tad dogmatic when I say this.

After all, this was a time when the impressionable bloom of youth was strong and personal responsibility was still a blip on the horizon. Little wonder then that folks get caught up in wistful recollection. Perhaps it says something about me that I am keen on moving on a little too soon and with a certain relentless intent. But there can be exceptions to the rule.

When I was in Year 8 our music teacher, who normally played us the classics or contemporary jazz pieces, slipped a record from a garish cover and put it on the turntable. It was a live album and she asked us just to listen. An so we did for a double period and I was won over by the gravelly, somewhat histrionic voice, strong melodies and great pop hooks. This was Neil Diamond's Hot August Night, an album that I might have played a hundred times over the next two years.

When I left high school I pretty much left Diamond behind, not because he wasn't a consummate performer and capable song-writer, but because he seemed daggy and out-of-touch. His more recent material had become increasingly MOR and so it was easy to mothball the albums and move on. But you know how 'way leads on to way' and the route I took, circuitous and mysterious, eventually brought me back to Mr Diamond. I had heard Cherry Cherry playing in the background in a shop in town and so, tempted, found a lot of back-catalogue Diamond on Spotify. And so, a happy day was spent listening, again.

Today, I found a guitar arrangement for Stones, as pretty a pop/folk song as you are likely to hear. I began to learn it.

Ain't life strange? Or grand? Or something? Good Lord!