That old chestnut. The do-over. The “if only”. The “if I knew then what I know now”. Well, yes. If I had known then what I know now, I would have known it. Very useful. I also wouldn’t have had the body I have now, the cynicism, the collection of mistakes, or the uncanny ability to recognise certain varieties of bullshit before they have finished introducing themselves.

So let’s make this fair. Put yourself back at the precise moment you are forever revisiting and play it again. But you don’t get to go back as you are now. That’s cheating. You go back as you were. Same age. Same insecurities. Same ridiculous optimism. Same hormones. Same information. Same people whispering in your ear. Same things you believed about yourself and the world that you now know were complete bollocks.

Now tell me what you would have done differently. No, really. Would you have left? Stayed? Said yes? Said no? Kissed him? Not kissed him? Taken the job? Made the call? Refused the apology? Accepted it? Would you genuinely have recognised that enormous flashing warning sign for what it was, or would you once again have admired the pretty colour?

I challenge you to walk that route in unbridled, naked honesty and see where you end up, because memory is a terrible liar. It adds flattering lighting. It removes the boring bits. It improves everybody’s hair. The silences become meaningful. The sex becomes better. The things we should have said become devastatingly clever and perfectly timed, and the dialogue ends up somewhere between Pulp Fiction and Sense and Sensibility. Nobody remembers saying, “Sorry, what?” three times because the kettle was boiling. We edit the past until it becomes something that never actually happened, and then we grieve for it.

There are no do-overs. This seems monstrously unfair, considering how many things I would like to do over, preferably with access to Google, a lawyer, and the ability to occasionally slap my younger........

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