The best thing about childhood? No one bats an eyelid if you skip or twirl, or have an irrepressible urge to run EVERYWHERE. Turn cartwheels, climb trees, roll down hills, squeal with delight on roundabouts and scare yourself silly by going so high on the swings that the chains slacken.

You don't care about how your hair looks or if you have mud, food or glue on your clothes. Glitter is the best. thing. ever.

All that matters is watching The Waltons, keeping your Sindy doll by your side (and out of your brother's grubby mitts) at all times, and praying for chips for tea. Again.

Finding strawberries on the plants in the garden and eating peas straight from the pod feels like the most exciting treat imaginable. The six week summer holiday seems to last forever and no one cares if you put on a pair of shorts with pale, pale skinny little leggies. Arguments are forgotten overnight (if not sooner) and a tenner seemed like so. much. money.

Good times.

I tried to turn a cartwheel the other day. Ended up in a heap, hurt my wrist, pulled a muscle in my thigh. I can't decide if this means I should never have stopped in the first place, or was a lesson telling me act my age.

Love