Sitting at the kitchen table with my mum, Janet, we flicked through the family photo album. ‘I remember that picture being taken,’ I said, pointing to a photo of me as a baby.
‘You can’t remember that,’ she dismissed me. ‘You were only 12 days old.’
It was 2001 and, aged 12, whatever Mum said, I knew I was different. I could recall that day, that photograph, being taken on 23 December 1989, everything as clear as day, even though I was less than two weeks old.
Placed on the driver’s seat of my mum’s car, I remembered the feeling of curiosity – the grey sheepskin car seat beneath me and the steering wheel above me. I even remembered Mum, now 55, holding a camera up to her eye, as…
