BACK in 1983, I invested my hard-earned pocket money in a double vinyl LP called NOW That’s What I Call Music. Combining the biggest hits of the previous year, it was like an official – that is to say, legal - version of a mixtape without all the annoying DJ interruptions (although the rumbling tones of Tommy Vance are a key part of the experience 40 years later).

Little did we know this was the beginning of a musical instuition. My uncle once swore blind they did one NOW a year. We’re on NOW 117 and counting, so I think he must have missed a few.

It was only a matter of time before someone turned the phenomenon into a jukebox musical, and as we waited for curtain up on Now That’s What I Call A Musical, I found myself wishing I had mocked up some bingo cards featuring 1980s bangers.

Will there be a character called Eileen (with a pet chameleon)? Will she have a White Wedding? Or will the central couple go their separate ways and entreat each other: “Don’t you forget about me”? Only to get back together at their school reunion, vowing never to give each other up?

The Other Half and I are teens of the ‘80s, so the show represented sheer nostalgia territory for us. Daughter has absorbed enough ‘80s culture to appreciate it, so we took her along. Before the show had even started, I was taken to task for singing along to the warm-up music too loudly; it would later turn out that whooping a brilliant rendition was strictly verboten.

This was disappointing, as none other than star turn Carol Decker from T’Pau had promised me that audience participation was mandatory.

As it turned out, there were many whoop-worthy performances, and joining in was permitted at carefully signposted intervals (Video Killed The Radio Star – which just scrapes into the ‘80s – being a high point).

The school-reunion-meets-midlife-crisis plot was a device upon which to hang the songs, but would you have expected otherwise? Pippa Evans’ book had just enough depth to provide interest, although the first half was slow and tense in places – Daughter does not tolerate adult angst very well, and seethed silently. But by the second half, she’d bought into it, asking: “Is it wrong that I’m crying more at this than at Dear Evan Hansen?”

Headline acts aside, it’s the top-class ensemble that really makes this show. Nina Wadia and Melissa Jacques play BFFs Gemma and April, with Nikita Johal and Maia Hawkins as their younger selves. All four put in fine performances, with Jacques on especially impressive vocal form, and Hawkins delivering a poignant rendition of Tears For Fears’ Everybody Wants to Rule The World, which makes a surprisingly good ballad.

Don’t underestimate the minor characters, many of whom have big numbers. Shakil Hussain impressed with a wistful take on Blondie’s Heart Of Glass, while Phil Sealey brought the house down with You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) in a VHS rental shop – his gut deserves a credit all of its own.

Callum Tempest as lovelorn teen Barney made quite a transformation with a seamless delivery of Every Breath You Take, and Kieran Cooper as Younger Tim turned a wardrobe malfunction into a genius in-character ad-lib. Lauren Hendricks had a fine underused voice (fun fact: she is also Cornish farmer Merryn from the Ginsters adverts).

As adult Tim, Chris Grahamson made the perfect villain as a stereotypical yuppie more interested in money and quick thrills than his marriage. He started the second half with Spandau Ballet’s Gold, and openly encouraged the audience to boo and hiss at his curtain call. “OMG, he’s such a red flag,” said Daughter early on. “That’s kind of the point,” her dad replied.

With all this going on, by the time Ms Decker made her cameo about three-quarters in, I’d all but forgotten she was on the bill. The big reveal was worth the wait. She was, quite simply, magnificent, making her entrance in an Elvis-style spangly white suit and belting out China In Your Hand backed by dancers holding, in Legs & Co literal fashion, giant teacups. This was a woman sure enough of her own talents not to take herself too seriously – and she looked like she was loving it.

Talking of dancers, Craig Revel Horwood’s choreography was stunning, especially the early tango to Tainted Love - shout-out to Emily Barnett-Salter, whose splits were straight out of Strictly.

The 1980s references came thick and fast, from Walls’ sausages and Gino Ginelli ice cream to Christopher Glover’s extensive recital of the ad for a certain brand of “waffly versatile” potato products. Daughter’s face suggested she couldn’t understand why I was laughing so hard. Me neither, truth be told.

But ours is not to reason why – just leave your questions at the door and enjoy musical GOLD!