When I was young, my older brother and I spent a lot of time with our cousins. The eldest cousin, a girl, went to boarding school, but there were two others that made us a foursome: me and three older boys.

I spent my days proving I could keep up and do what the older boys did. They’d load me into a huge tractor tyre and roll me down the hill until I hit a tree or a fence and came sprawling out, just to prove I was part of their ‘gang’. They’d send me down their makeshift zipline backwards and blindfolded. They also drove an old Mini Cooper their parents owned around the acreage they lived on (their mother handing out helmets to keep us safe). Once, they loaded me into the driver’s seat, but as my little legs couldn’t reach the pedals, they stacked two bricks on the accelerator and sent me ‘driving’ until the bricks fell off the pedal and the car (luckily) rolled to a stop. Don’t get me wrong – being an adrenaline junkie myself, I loved proving I was brave enough and strong enough to be a part of their gang. They never could find a stunt I wouldn’t take part in.

One day, when I was around seven, we went on an excursion to the beach – a big change compared to where we lived in the countryside. I couldn’t recall having been taken to swim in the sea before, but everyone was excited when we raced towards the water’s edge.

However, as we reached the foamy water that lapped onto the shore, one of my cousins shouted, ‘Why is the sea water warm?’ and when no one answered, he said, ‘Because the sea weed’. Laughing, the boys raced into the water, but I stood on the beach, unable to understand why they’d want to swim in a sea of wee.

It was the first time I didn’t follow them.