The inevitably hotly-tipped New Yorkers, Scissor Sisters take from the pantheon of prog and turn a stoned Pink Floyd epic into a silver-trousered electro Bee Gees song. There’s no apparent game plan other than to prove that they could actually do it.

Ooo, I can see myself dancing to this in some trendy, burnt out bomb shelter in Stoke Newington. And then afterwards, a kebab, a snog with someone who I had previously opted to feign blindness rather than talk to and a Sixty And Self Servicing magazine from the top shelf. The morning after? A massive sense of shame. And the sheep, grunter and OAP would have nothing to do with it.