My inclination towards storytelling became apparent when I started school. On Monday mornings our teacher would instruct us to write about our weekend activities. While the other kids recounted their trips to the local pool, I told of the fearless capers I enjoyed with my older brother, Christopher. From building camps in the Scottish wilderness to sledging down Mount Everest, our sibling bond truly knew no bounds. By the end of the autumn term, we two indomitable voyagers had traversed the length and breadth of outermost and beyond on our quest for wild adventure.

At parents' evening, my mum and dad were presented with my bulging Diary. Jane is clearly very close to Christopher, my teacher smiled, her adoration of your son is ever so touching. For a moment, mum later admitted, she was tempted to just stay schtum. Would the school deem that I was a deeply unhappy child forced to escape my sadness through fantasy? Might not my make-believe world reflect badly on her parenting? Why else would I pretend to have a brother when I was one of two girls?

Still, that said, my sister Sally remains a shining star in my life.