One day a few years back out of trainspotting curiosity I decided to sort my iTunes in order of plays. Who would have the most? Who would be the tunes I played over and over, much to my neighbour’s sheer, erm, joy? The underground house DJ in me was hoping for some Chicago goodness, the glitter queen after some disco, whilst my natural resting face was hoping for Radiohead. The stats delivered something else. They delivered Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. The stats made sense.

For Rumours is my go-to album of celebration, of heartache, of sunny days and dark winter nights. Its the album who’s crackling vinyl accompanies late-night sessions, its the album that soundtracks a motorway singalong like no other (although The Chain doesn’t work so well stuck in a jam at Dartford tunnel). Its the longplayer I return to whenever the wind blows or the songbird sings, when the grin is needed or the tears overwhelming.

It was the soundtrack to my first broken heart and for that, I will always be grateful to you sweet Shiv. Yeah, that broken heart it hurt like fuck but you gave me a musical lesson I will always be grateful for. Without Mick, John, Lindsey, Christine and Stevie (oh Stevie) there would be no musical gold dust to return to day after day after day.  Without Fleetwood Mac, well, if you know you know.