A field in Wales is a dreadful place to have a panic attack.

Especially when you’re camping in a silent, almost deserted campsite.

Oh, I was safe, utterly so – within a few yards of a farmhouse at all times, and never more than a mile and a half away from a village or town – but it was off season, wo we only had two other tents on the field… which eventually became JUST us. And it turns out there are downsides to a good imagination, in that my mind combined it’s horror obsession with animal instincts… and voila. Panic attack. I had to make my husband take me to the toilet.

Fortunately, I had books.

Dancing, shape-shifting, archaeologist/rock star FROM SPACE.

I was… kind of a weird kid. Good natured, but overly intelligent for my age, and I hadn’t quite figured out that other people couldn’t quite keep up with my mental jumps. And as for imagination… phew. Well, kids are imaginative at the best of times, but me…

Ok. To explain. My childhood ambition (and most common type of play) was: Dancing, shape-shifting tiger archaeologist-rockstar FROM SPACE. (this was also the first story I ever told.)

I don’t think I need to tell you I didn’t have many friends.

Age Appropriate

Otherwise known as Something My Parents Did Not Believe In.

Oh, don’t get me wrong, they had some caution over what I read, but from a certain age they trusted me enough to think that if I was disturbed or concerned by something I read, that I would talk to them. A lot of the time they were right.