Monitors beeped, digits flashed, numbers spun. We brothers ruled the earth, evading the jaws of tyrannosaurs, exploring ancient Egyptian tombs, battling gladiators before Caesar. And by the time Neil landed, we’d already blasted off. Always backwards, never forwards—unaware how soon time would stop. But now I’m in The Crown, buying another round, hurtling towards Auld Lang Syne, yet another countdown, as the spirit in my throat burns hot in my heart, and the sound system pulses, and the TV celebration glitches, and the Christmas lights sparkle with their technicolour shine. And I think you’d like it here.