Mate, I hear you. My kids are just about coming up to the age (15) where I’d have been starting to go clubbing in Manchester. Had a pretty good ten years of it before having to start being a grown up and moving round for work and I can’t even say I’ll feel bad if they come back in an absolute state because I guarantee you I’d have been ten times worse. I feel like I want to go get a 20 deck of Marlboro Lights, get the bus in to town, go for a quiet pint in Moon Under The Water, stay out for one more, lose my mates for a solid hour, find them laying on car bonnets with their shirts open, get refused entry at the Ritz cause one of your mates couldn’t stand up for more than a minute, slap them in a taxi, get messy til 3am, 5am send the one mate who didn’t want to come out cause they had work a photo of the five women you’d been talking to and they’d invited you back to there’s for one last tinny, end up on the side of the east Lancs in deckchairs swigging 20/20 as that’s all there was left, watching everyone on their way to work whilst my ears buzz and the taste of kebab meat seeps from every pore, realise the mate you sent a photo to would be leaving for work soon, go wait outside theirs so you can all call them a lightweight when they come out, get the bus home, sleep it off for a few hours and then try again.