Putting this into perspective, it’s 1985! Fashion consisted of big hair (sadly, I was never blessed with a flowing mane—rather an insanely curly, fine, and short head of candyfloss) and big shoulder pads (thank you, Dallas). I’m 25, convinced I’ve got life figured out.
At 25, I was the mother of a three-year-old daughter. Don’t get me wrong; I absolutely would not change having her for the world, but with the benefit of hindsight, I would probably have waited a few years more (and possibly have chosen a different father). I did say I would be brutally honest in my writing, didn’t I?
I got married to escape my mother. (To say we had a difficult relationship is putting it mildly.) My husband was undoubtedly the worst choice I could have made for a lifelong partner. I told my parents I would rather move in with him to test the water, but my Dad said he would disown me if I did that! The shame would have been unthinkable, and what would the neighbours think? So marriage it was.