"I’m not a massive fan of year-enders … the annual critical backslapping sessions are an all–too-predictable affair."

It’s easy to fill column inches by throwing endless lists at the problem, and the end-of-a-decade just amplifies the list-mania. Boys love lists, they love to compartmentalize and they love to argue endlessly about the relative merits of A over B.

At school I was a serial offender in this regard. I had a big green book that I carried round with me everywhere and I would constantly badger people for their current Top 10s. At the end of the week, if I had enough reluctant participants, I’d spend my weekend compiling the list-of-the-lists and aggregrate the scores into a new list, which was worth slightly less than the sum of its parts.

Instead of dwelling on the year just passed, or indeed the year ahead, I’m having a most unusual holiday season this year, flying south from the icy freeze of the UK’s standard chaotica-in-the-face-of-a-light-frost-and-a-few-flurries to much sunnier climes. This will be the first year I’ve made not one but two pilgrimages Down Under and it’s a real thrill to be playing some major festivals again.