Choose trains. Choose no actual trains. Choose candles. Choose an elderly arsonist. Choose an empty hotel, choose magically refilling flower pots, trip wires, stroppy ghosts and layers of dust. Choose trip wires, seances and barbed wire doors.

Choose a submarine. Choose role-play with a pretty woman. Choose arguments with a heartless bastard. Choose a face full of mincemeat. Choose a one-eyed cat and mouldy sandwiches.

Choose banging away on a piece of junk outside in the dark while singing a really old song to a malevolent creeping blackness and wondering what the f*** you are doing starting a band in the middle of the night with an unsettlingly enthusiastic stranger who has complete disregard for you and anyone you have-will-could know.

Choose tension, and more tension, and even more tension. Choose not to eat the mouldy sandwiches. Choose your future. But only your future. Choose not to choose someone else’s future. And the explanations? There are no explanations. Who needs explanations when you’re medium atomic weights?