Mid 70s, West Leeds

If you were from round here, you grew up with a presence – and not just your own. You didn’t think about it much. You’d better things to do, especially if you were into Bowie, full of ‘moonage daydreams’ and ‘strange fascinations, fascinating me’. But the presence seeped in all the same. You just rocked your way out of it.

Anyway, they said it was always prozers, not normal girls like you. (You were actually still a virgin, but for God’s sake don’t tell anyone.) You were Chelsea Girl clothes and Sacha shoes, so smooth in your flares and platforms. Your hair was layered, your perfume Kiku (leaving you smelling like a lemon). The music usually had to be soul, which you didn’t really like but it was worth it to be out with your mates and get walked home by a boy, also in flares with layered hair. You kept your crush on Alice Cooper secret – all the guillotining babies stuff being a bit embarrassing. Before you went to the Mecca, you drank barley wine for Dutch courage (‘strong as a double scotch and half the price,’ the billboard said) but when a lad was paying you’d have Baby Cham because that made you look classy and not a tart, without being too pricey so he’d more likely ask for a second date.

Then there was Jane McDonald. Front page of the Yorkshire Post and lots of posters, even in the corner shop. Her layered hair was just like yours and she definitely wasn’t a ‘prozer’. From then on, the presence got darker, more real somehow - like suddenly having to believe in ghosts.