This is something more profound than resilience. It is the part of us that comes alive when we feel we have nothing left

In 2023, I was in the top 0.05% of Spotify listeners of Manic Street Preachers. It was one song on repeat. I would bet good money that there is no one in the world who has listened to their cover of Burt Bacharach’s and Hal David’s Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head as much as me.

No one except my daughter, who was also there as it played through the night, and through every nap, too, for the first 15 months of her life. Some babies need white noise to soothe them to sleep; mine needed my arms and James Dean Bradfield’s voice. Astonishingly, despite this, I do not now hate the song – in fact, I quite like hearing it. If this column ever makes its way to you, James: thank you.