The best bit of this record is the end. By the time we put this on, Junior had resorted to playing hide and seek by sitting on dad’s head (you try and find a baby that’s sitting on your head).

When I say the end, I mean the last minute. The flame-haired, jewel-toothed, priapic, McCutcheon-bothering minstrel changes the key and stretches his ad lib wings, and we can forget the dry work-out of the first three minutes. Nothing special, though. Hucknall was never as special as he thought, unlikely voice apart.

I heard ‘Something Got Me Started’ the other day. Horrible song, yet brimming with enormous, tangible confidence. It got me thinking that it wasn’t just the broad appeal MOR coffee-table soul that made him so successful; it was also his unstoppable, brash belief that he had everything and could do anything. Without that, he was just another Sade, albeit one a little less easy on the eye.

Now, don’t go deserting 1987 in your Duranie-like droves. The Top 10’s mustard.