The moment I got my eight year old hands on that helicopter covered vinyl I was smitten. Within moments The Osmonds and their Crazy Horses were brushed to one side and it was all about the Swedish Tiger as ABBA’s Arrival entered my childhood bloodstream. And just like with The Supremes before them, within weeks I knew every word of every song they’d ever made. Pop me in a discoteque today and I’ll be there, attempting not to lip sync for my life to every second of their pop perfection.

A love affair that has secretly continued as Arrival charmed, Voulev-Vous wowed, Summer Night City kept it suggestive, and a certain official movie had me and my Dad dancing in the car on the way home from the cinema one Saturday afternoon. Okay I’ll never be a Supertrooper and no matter how deep my devotion to Meryl and Julie clunky musicals will never do it for me, but when Severino and Luke dropped Mamma Mia early one morning at Horse Meat Disco at Patterns recently my not-so-secret was out. Open and proud and hands in the disco air and forever in love with ABBA and my childhood crush Frida (sorry Agnetha but she will forever be the first brunette to hasten the beat of this baby dyke). ABBA. Look into my childhood shadows and they’ll always be there. Like the disco tiger they are.