GENESIS are reforming. Well, some of them. Three of them. And Phil Collins’ boy is taking up space on his da’s drum stool. Isn’t it wonderful news?

Just as national morale is set to crash through the floor, these three auld fellas reveal they are prepared to play in 10,000-seater halls such as London’s O2 Arena and Glasgow’s SSE Hydro; a drum stick in the eye to coronavirus!

Prog rock, of course, was essentially British, which will appeal to the Remainers who want to rewind back to the days of musical expansionism and to Brexiteers who wish to happily wave goodbye to a musical legacy soon to be forgotten for good.

Yes, the music of Genesis is pretentious and tedious. Mike Rutherford, Tony Banks, Phil Collins and Steve Hackett (now missing) sold 100m records based largely on the support of teenage boys who couldn’t get a girlfriend and spent way too much time in their bedrooms, practising guitar solos on a fretless and reading Philip Roth novels.

Genesis produced album tracks so long you could put one on the record player before going to bed and Banks and co would still be blasting away by breakfast.

Now, I wasn’t a Genesis fan; the idea of worshipping a vainglorious lead singer who wore a fox’s head angered me to the point of mounting a horse, donning a red jacket and yelling ‘Tally ho!’ at the top of my voice. Peter Gabriel had to be hunted down.

But I was a fan of prog rock. I loved Yes and the Yes Album and a bit of Jethro and a lot of Emerson, Lake and Palmer. And why wouldn’t I?

Prog rock was unashamedly pretentious, elitist and to enjoy it was to mock the bête noire of adolescents through the ages – duty, conformity – and parents such as your dad, who liked Jim Reeves.

The likes of Yes and ELP, to the teenager in the 1970s, were iconoclastic. These bands had the rampant disdain for traditional song structures – verse/chorus . . . sometimes a middle eight – opting instead for long rambling jazz tunes which featured several key changes, dissembled melodies and use of vocal counterpoint. The likes of the wonderful Yes and Genesis paraded self-indulgent solos that stretched patience to the limit.

Prog rock was, of course, a command for attention we boys (females clearly saw past the absurdity of it all) could relate to. It was the musical version of Lindsay Anderson’s film If, featuring middle-class boys from a toff school, olde England tradition mixed with rage. Indeed, the genesis of Genesis took place at Charterhouse College.

Yes, there are those who will say Genesis are past it. They’ll say Phil Collins was once one of the world’s greatest drummers but now he walks with a stick and can barely hold a pair of chop sticks. (Nice bloke; met him during the time of Buster and he couldn’t have been more down to earth, considering he was a stage school kid.)

There are those who say Genesis’ reformation isn’t complete because Peter Gabriel won’t be part of the line up but you could argue it’s 45 years since he appeared with his one-time chums on stage. Why not invite him along? No one could have countenanced a reformation of The Beatles without Lennon and McCartney, the Kinks without both Davies brothers.

Sure, there are critics who will point out Collins and co don’t need the money. (Phil’s reckoned to be worth north of £200m).

But that’s not the point. If we get to see the likes of Banks and co up there on stage we get a visual reminder that the riches of Croesus can’t protect from cellular degeneration nor frequency sensorineural hearing loss.

We get to appreciate that these fellas might have beautiful wives and lives but they still need something to do during the day. They still need a bit of attention. "I worked it out and we've only done two shows in the UK in the last 28 years, so we haven't over-worked it,” said Mike Rutherford.

There you go. He knows it’s time to make an appearance. And have a laugh at the expense of all-too affluent babyboomers.

This lot have turned musical rebellion into power, and squillions of cash. Now, they’re recreating Nerdland. This is a Ted Talk with guitars for musical snobs.

And they’re out to prove old, privileged white men can still rip us off blind, and laugh in the faces of the little anoraky, self-absorbed boys we once were. What can be wrong with that?