Starting life in Liverpool, so early in 1970 it was nearly the sixties, I am one of four. The second in a neat group, boy girl boy girl, pretty evenly spaced. A brother on both sides wasn’t the best sandwich in my teenage years, but these things happen. My sister was young enough for me to feel at times that she was mine and enjoy playing babies and pretending to be all grown-up.

Catherine was born at home – the cowboy film we were watching at the time was interrupted with the news of our new sister’s arrival; Ruari was promptly sick into the laundry basket. (A good indication of the dynamic between them to come I now realise. In no time he was bopping her on the head with his 2.5’ long plastic war ship.)

Liverpool was fairly short lived; I remember riding my brick truck down the stairs and into the wall at the bottom, treading on a wasp on top of the oak mule chest on Christmas day, and putting my dinner on my head when I noticed my bowl was hat shaped. The label Center of Attention Girl must have come to be at around that time.

The next 13 years were spent in Somerset – two schools, much sport, and unnecessary trouble for various colours and shapes of hair and earrings (they do fuss about all that, schools). I worked very hard. No one believed me, because I played up for attention. On presentation of my (pretty good) ‘O’ level results came the comment “think what you could have done if you’d have actually made an effort”. They thought I was a genius that hadn’t lifted a finger or rather twitched a neuron – actually I was capable, but had worked extremely hard and consistently to achieve what I did.

Next, after a foundation course in art, a degree in the pretentious world of fashion design. After a few years avoiding the industry, I ‘fell’ into costume design as a freelancer. Many fantastic jobs, some less so. Some stage wear, pop promos, many commercial costumes, the odd feature. This expanded to include animation modelmaking, usually with a textile leaning (it became my speciality), whilst all the time I juggled my other job as a violinist. More on that here. You can as a freelancer – I never wanted to specialise, and it increased the odds of there being a job there to pay the rent.

I took part in some great big tours, and some rock bottom desperate ones. All good in their own way, with much rock and roll tomfoolery, the details of which aren’t for this page. Saw lots of the world, lucky lucky me. (I’ll never forget the Cristo Redentor statue on Corcovado Mountain in Rio and the unbelievably beautiful view over Brazil – superb.)

And THEN – I met a great man. Only I didn’t think he was that great at first. Actually I thought he was rubbish, but he knows that. He thought I was lacking all sense of humour. We laugh together a lot now, and not just about those precarious early days that very nearly didn’t happen. He knows I think he was trying too hard. I couldn’t get a sense of him, so I didn’t think there was any him. He’s an only child; he’s wary of new people, and expects them to be wary of or dislike him for some reason. We’re quite different in that respect; I thrive in the knowledge that new people have no preconceptions about me, and that gives me confidence.

So anyway, then he put two babies inside me, all in one go, and I’m very happy that he did. He is delighted. Daddy’s girls!