25 years ago I rented a cottage near where I was working, opposite Bird Rock in the Dysenni valley, mid-Wales. Some people came round, just with a fiddle, a flute and a guitar. I went for a walk in the field with a bright moon over the mountain and a frost in the air, and the music floating out from the house. It was a defining moment in my life, for various, boring, reasons, and one of those times when you almost want to die while things are so perfect. Pass the tissues.