When you’re young, the people who will be making headlines and writing the books and curing diseases when you are an adult, are, at present, your age. They haven’t become important yet and they won’t for many years. In fact, right now they are sitting at the dining table, eating jam and toast; or trying on their ballet slippers for the first time; or waiting in a café; or throwing a football across to their father; or mourning the loss of their father; or roaming the streets of Antwerp with their hands in their pockets; or reading a mediocre romance novel. They unknowingly write their pasts, these important people, existing with you on a common plane in time and space. Young, uncertain. So, who says that history can’t be yours?