It’s half past five on a Sunday morning and still too early for anybody in our southwest London street to spot us as we get off the night bus and stroll home arm in arm, bedraggled but exhilarated. My wife and I, both in our fifties, are returning from a night dancing to rave and trance music in a hardcore techno club, rekindling a feeling we last had in our twenties.
Since a magical July night in Corsica Studios, southeast London, I’ve found myself rushing home most Saturdays after a day’s work as transport editor in the Sunday Times newsroom to join my wife on our late-night adventures. My colleagues, most of whom are in their twenties and thirties, tease me as they head off
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