It was a midweek afternoon in November and I was being battered by the elements. When I’d left the flat the sky had been slightly grey, but the air had been dry, and so I hadn’t thought to take a coat with me. But now, as the heavens opened above me, I wasn’t as bothered by it as I might have been. In fact, even as the water mixed with the gel in my hair – Aaah, gel. Remember how it used to be standard to wear gel? This was 2003, after all – and ran down my face in streams, meeting on top of my eyeballs to create an uncomfortable stinging sensation, I remained still and focused on the spectacle that was taking place before me. My face was pushed up against the wall; it was the only way I could get a proper view of the action, peering through the gap between the bricks and the metal gate. Every now and then a car would stop at the red traffic light behind me, while its passengers eyed me curiously, speculating amongst themselves about what I was up to and why it was important enough to keep me out in such torrential rain and gale force winds.