I have this memory. I’m about 9 years old and I’m reading my older sister’s magazine. I assume it’s Smash Hits or Top of the Pops. It features a band called Hanson on the cover – some kid my age plays the drums and they all look strangely like me with their shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair. In their fame, they’d inspire a short-lived dream. Beyond that, they’d remain buried among the rubble of childhood nostalgia.

I could sing to a tolerable level, so could my neighbour. My sister, for all her other talents, could not. Despite our shortcomings, we created a band. We sang a song about missing a boy and envisioned an album cover where we all wore dungarees. It remains one of the most precious memories I have. It’s safe to say we weren’t very good and that dream died along with any hope of fame.

Hanson to most represent a song. A singular moment in pop music history. The brothers that people thought were sisters that had that song Mmm Bop. There were, of course, other songs but people were adamant this was the only one. “What about I Will Come to You or Penny and Me”, I’d say. They don’t believe me.

In their defence, Mmm bop is an unforgettable tune. Not least because of its totally non-sensical chorus. There are those few lyrics I’ve managed to decipher “Oh, so hold on the ones who really care; In the end they’ll be the only ones there” which maybe best sums up whatever mmm bop is. A nod to the present; to pure joy.

26 years, some beards and grey strands, later and I’d share a space with the trio, alongside thousands of other millennials pining for their youth. They wore, in time, our lives so well. They didn’t seem to brandish any of the pain and only wore the good times in their flowing locks. And I missed myself sorely.

Of course it wasn’t just Hanson. The main attraction was Busted. They’d also drag me back in time; back to the early noughties when I fell in love with my now husband and shared unforgettable summers with my best friends. It’s safe to say, I cried a lot. From one song to the next, I was shrouded in memories.

That is exactly what nostalgia does. It takes us to a place of safety and demands we stay there. Hanson weren’t simply a moment. They were several. They followed me into my teens – resurfacing at increments with the likes of If Only and Lost Without Each Other (thankfully, they’d sing both on this evening).

And there was something in their kinship that reminded me so much of my own sibling camaraderie: look at those brothers – the best of friends! That was us. Just older now.

Watching these kinds of bands just feels good. And us 6 women, 3 sets of sisters, now in our late thirties (minus one) banded together desperate to feel something other than the pressures of modern life. In Hanson and Busted they found a temporary escape.

I often thought of these tours as for the bands. The truth is, while the bands monopolised on our nostalgia, it was entirely to do with our own longing for something we could not purchase.

It was a moment gone. Lost to the past. And with vigour we’d try our best to summon it. In their jeans and high tops, they’d sing and played their instruments as naturally as I hold a glass of wine. Charlie (Busted) wore ASICS and that felt important. They looked older but the same. And there was hope in that. If they can still put themselves out there, can’t I still chase my dreams?

A few hours and too many vodka and cokes later it would all be over. Tripping over little boys shoes at my front door, I was brought firmly back to reality. Which was equally lovely. It’s just that sometimes we need those small breaks of escapism to remind us of that.