Glastonbury I went to my first festival in 1989, at the age of twenty three. My friend Michael had seen an advert for it in the New Musical Express and he and I fancied seeing a couple of bands that were on the bill, most notably the Pixies. We decided to pay our twenty eight pounds for a ticket and made the long journey to Somerset, in deepest England. I had absolutely no idea what a festival might be like, having only seen fleeting footage of the mythical Woodstock on television.

We Are Northern Lights A few years ago my then girlfriend and I attempted a move from Scotland to the US. I say attempted, because three months later I decided to return to Scotland. Homesickness had hit me like a ton of bricks. Yes, I’d missed family and friends, that was to be expected, but what I didn’t expect was the problem of the language barrier. It wasn’t that I couldn’t understand, or be understood by, the American people I came across, but it suddenly struck me that I had somehow lost my sense of humour while there.

A to Z of me Addictions: Coffee, Twitter, buying music. Bed size: King size, oh yes. Chore you hate: Dusting, hoovering. I do not iron. Ironing is wrong. Dogs or cats: Dogs. My best mate used to be a dog. Sad he’s gone. Essential start of your day: Twitter till 6:30, snooze till seven. Then porridge (winter) or Sultana Bran/Special K Red Berries mixture (summer) and coffee. Favourite colour: Black most of the time, apart from a splash of red when I’ve got my favourite jumper on, very occasionally blue jeans (if everything else is in the wash).