Do I miss it? My youth? Sometimes, I guess, when I’m walking up hills and that. I don’t miss the hormones. I don’t have much in the way of regrets. I did stuff. I went to places. I wore stupid clothes and did unforgivable things to my hair. That is what your youth is for, I think, mostly, looking a bit silly and listening to terrible music. I did that.
So what would I put in that letter to my teenage self that everyone writes nowadays? Dear Ben, I’d write, in a couple of years time the opportunity will arise for you to down a pint of advocaat in one. Don’t do that. Anything else? Don’t get your hopes up for X-Men: Apocalypse? Maybe. I dunno. Mostly don’t neck the advocaat.