Saturday afternoons, beside the record-player, were spent turning over Number Ones to play the B-side of some indulged American or go-ape Englishman. B-sides added more colour and confusion to the existing colour and confusion. May became one huge sound studio, an exhibition we wished to emulate in perfect harmonies. Our rooms circled around a diamond needle in space. Life is long-playing, we learned, a mixture of hits and misses, glorious fulfilments and ordinary extras. Replayed today, it’s the mysteries that stay in the heart, long since we left our room of adolescence. Why does Track Eleven still move us so?