A kid I went to school with – let’s call him Gicholas Nalloway to shield his true identity – woke one morning to see he’d given himself a haircut in his sleep.

The way I remember it, he’d developed a bit of a habit for sleepwalking at the time, and on this particular night he happened upon a set of electric clippers on his nightly ambles. As any boy would when holding clippers, he used them to cut what could only be described as a 3D street map into his head: meandering strips of shaved skull as the streets, and huge tufts of untouched hair as the ramshackle houses and hills.