As I grew to the ripe old age of 3 I found out that walking was cool. I’d make my dad walk me up and down the garden again and again. I needed his arms to hold onto, I couldn’t do it alone. We’d play bat and ball and bless him for sticking with me - I know how tedious that might have been. He taught me how to catch. I can hear his words now ‘Watch the ball!’. It’s just what I said to children now if I’m teaching them too. Paying it forward.

I remember having reigns when we went out. I remember needing to hold my parent’s hands. My mum had a habit of walking in front of me and tripping me up. It became a bit of a joke. ‘Legging me over’ we called it. Balancing was a challenge. I’d ended up with one leg longer and weak uncoordinated legs after coming out of frog plaster. It was hard for mum to let me go. She wanted to protect me (despite the legging over business). She told me she watched me run across a park once, in a little blue dress, and was so delighted to see me charge along. Then I fell over and it hurt her. I can only begin to imagine the sympathy and internal conflict going on inside her wanting to save me but also wanting me to get up by myself.