I’m writing this the morning after the weekend before. Once upon a time, that might have meant a Saturday night on the tiles, and Sunday wiped out for recovery purposes. But I’m 51 now, and far too old and sensible for that sort of thing.

No, my activities of choice are much more sedate – in fact, much of the weekend was spent with my backside glued to the passenger seat of our car as it hurtled along the M5 in pursuit the memories of our younger years.

We were prepared to put in a six-hour trip to hear Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (OMD) at Swansea Arena. Even more surprising, so was Daughter. It never ceases to amaze me how tolerant she is, supportive even, of our musical tastes – during the journey she even professed admiration towards late-era Leonard Cohen, all growling snark. It’s a long way from Taylor Swift, which is shaking the very bones of the conservatory as I type.

The Other Half is a committed OMD fan, to the point that he is first in the queue at HMV to buy each new album (he’s old-school – he might even pay in cash for all I know). Because, despite 45 years in the business, OMD are not resting on their laurels; while the set list contained plenty of hardy perennials (Enola Gay, Joan of Arc, Tesla Girls), there were plenty of later gems to be enjoyed, particularly from the Bauhaus Staircase album, released in October last year.

It's a barnstorming listen, back to OMD’s early influences of electronica and modern art. At 64, Andy McCluskey’s voice seems undimmed by age, and his stage presence remained energetic as ever – frankly, I’m jealous.  

Some of the crowd needed a little convincing: “The guy in front talked through all the new stuff,” OH groused. That would be the big bloke drinking a pint out of seven stacked glasses, who nearly took Daughter’s eye out with his “enthusiastic” dancing to the upbeat hits.

While Cornwall is a beautiful place to live, one of the indisputable downsides is that it is so blooming far from everywhere else. You can drive for three hours, and still only be in Bristol. You’re lucky if the bands you love make it this far west, although this is improving thanks to some stellar venues and fabulous festivals (we hold out hope in this household that a certain Ms Swift might request an appearance at the Eden Sessions).

So on this occasion, we made the most of our trip to explore our environs. A sodden afternoon in Swansea city centre was lifted by an hour or two in the National Waterfront Museum, a reminder of how closely connected Cornwall is to its Celtic cousin. In the 19th century, copper ore was shipped out of Hayle across the Bristol Channel to Swansea, headed for smelting works powered by Welsh coal.

When the sun finally came out, we headed for the Gower peninsula, again reminiscent of home shores. Think locally churned ice cream licked on the prom in Victorian Mumbles; golden sands lapped by lacy tides at Rhossili; and imposing castle ruins harking back to the days when power rested among a handful of influential families.

We would quite happy have stayed a week, throwing work and school to the dogs. But bills have to be paid and lessons learned, so we piled back into the car for the six-hour trip back to our beloved Kernow.

We’re now looking forward to our next family gig. Steeleye Span made their mark with one big hit, All Around My Hat, in the 1970s; but, like OMD, they have recorded prolifically ever since, drawing from a seemingly never-ending pool of traditional folk tales, often contrasting grisly fates with ridiculously jolly tunes.

This time, we’ll be dancing in the not-so-distant surroundings of Falmouth. The week before, however, I’ll be enjoying the dulcet tones of Cornwall’s finest buoy band, the Fisherman’s Friends, in that well-known trawlerman’s paradise: Grimsby.

That’ll be several hours of in-car entertainment and bum-numbing inactivity. Bring it on.