Picture a waitress in a cocktail bar, a club where the drinks are free. You can dance if you want to. One way or another, do we always find you in the kitchen at parties? Do you have the sun in your eyes and the moon in your hair? Have you ever danced the lambada, owned a rah rah skirt, worn white socks, written a letter to America?

If you sang along to Queen at Live Aid, or tapped out a rhythm on a Casio VL Tone, kicked high like the Kids from Fame, fought for your right to party, or rode the highways with Michael Knight and Kit. If you ever went moonlighting with David and Maddie, or moonwalking with Michael.

If you had hair like Cyndi Lauper. Or dungarees like Kevin Rowland. Or wore your sleeves rolled up like Don Johnson in Miami Vice. If you have a favourite shirt. A favourite waste of time. If you've ever called all the heroes. Walked on sunshine. Begun the beguine. Bought just seventeen.

Deep in your wardrobe there's fluorescent lycra, Deely boppers, a thin leather tie with piano keys on it; ridicule is nothing to be scared of.

Deep in your mind are the words to every Duran Duran single. You've got the look. You keep feeling fascination. Somewhere in your heart, this time, you know it's for real. We won't forget about you. We're right here waiting for you, even if you say hello and wave goodbye.

This is where you are and where you were. It's who you were and who you are. This is the sound of your soul, the light of an eternal flame. This is the time of your life. This is the music of a lifetime where the 80s live. This is Max.