In a few days’ time, as has become its custom, the concert venue of St John’s Smith Square in London will revert to something like its origins as a church and celebrate Holy Week – not, alas, with liturgy but with a festival of choral music sung by whatever the collective noun is for conveyor-belts of choirs. And much of what they’ll sing will be the music of Sir James MacMillan, in recognition of the fact that he celebrates his 60th birthday in July. A fact hard to acknowledge when it seems like yesterday that I first met him – during the St Magnus Festival on Orkney in the 1980s, when he came across as tough and radical, wearing an earring with the street-cred chic of somebody from a Gitanes advertisement – and young. As were we all.