The creation of polymath and pop eminence grise Robin Scott, this is the handbook for a snazzy and sparkling pop life – “Wanna be a gun slinger, don’t be a rock singer… dance in the supermarket, dig it in the fast lane” – and hell, we’re all talking about it. Round and round it goes, devastatingly catchy, wiggly, irritating, practically perfect in every way. A bit knowing, a bit studied, but absolutely pop pop shoo wop.

Probably should’ve bumped it up a place, because Junior wasn’t it the mood for boinging bounce-pop, or any kind of jumping jack. She conceded it was “happy”, but she wasn’t. She was being made to put her shoes on.

Or perhaps she really did find it irksome. Let me hear you say, “New York, London, Paris, Munich…”