Propped up on my elbows in bed, my arms are beginning to ache and I have eaten too many chocalate digestives. I am reading back issues of my Beano collection – stored in the orange record box (only years later did I realise it was not actually designed to store comics) – and I know I oughtn’t be; it’s the middle of the day and any moment now my dad’s going to come into my room, berating me noisily, half joking half serious. He’ll probably pull my World Wildlife Fund “I am Sleeping to Save the Panda” duvet off me in one airy swoop and bundle it up in his arms. The shock of the chill will first make me curl up and groan. Reluctantly, I’ll slink off the bed and rejoin the world.