Yesterday I bent down and slid legwarmers over my feet for the first time since 1985.
Instantly, I was 13 again; in my bedroom in my parents’ house, faintly worried. Will I look stupid? Is my hair right? Will he notice me? Where’s my electric-blue eyeliner?
But these were a modest brown, not the fluffy white monstrosities of 25 years ago. My hair’s fine, he loves me and I don’t wear eyeliner any more.
Later, I again remembered my schooldays vividly as, after a day of wearing a skirt in winter, I huddled and tried to warm my bones.