It always does when we're together.

We were together in London.

Big town. I presumed I'd be living there by the age of 24 but that's gone now. Serves me right for having ambitions.

Maybe it's too big, anyway. We kept getting lost. But that was okay. In a strange city there's always new things to see – unless you're on the underground but only an idiot could get lost down there.

We did on the first day so we tried to stay above ground. That way you take a wrong turn and happen upon something like St Paul's Cathedral. Impressive enough building but someone needs to shinny up there with rubber gloves and some Cif.

We liked the Tate, were disappointed with the Globe and can't remember much about Soho.

There was other stuff to see but we didn't get time.

Too big maybe, but, then, at least there's always something happening.
The Beach Boys were in town so we went along.

Not that the Beach Boys are really the Beach Boys any more. There's one founding member, seven session musicians and no Brian Wilson.

They played for four long hours. Nostalgic rubbish, the paper called it the next day.

Men approaching 70 using terms like groovy and hip makes the skin crawl. They weren't being ironic when they sang about Californian girls, school being out or growing up to be a man. They were just being slightly creepy.

But the important thing was the audience didn't see it that way. Most were the same age as the performers. They revelled in the nostalgia. Some even got up and tapped their feet. It made them happy.

The next night we saw The Research.

They played for 35 minutes.

They're 40 years younger than the Beach Boys and still have all their original members but will never write anything as good as Good Vibrations. Not that that stopped a hundred teenagers going crazy for it.

They genuinely couldn't have loved anything more. Some even got up on stage, tapping their feet. It made them happy.

Youthful exuberance, the paper called it the next day.

That's elitism for you. Youth equals exuberance, nostalgia equals rubbish.

And yet doesn't youth grow nostalgic in the end? And if you're going to be nostalgic about something, God Only Knows is as good a thing as anything.

And the young only grow cynical with age, while the elderly become romantic, looking back.

We had a ramble in St James's Park the next day and talked about the nature of time but our time was soon up and we headed home. "You've just got to live for the present rather than the past or future," she said.

But the present was a dull six-hour coach journey so I thought about the past and future instead.