I have a childhood scar on my left hand from when I selected the sharpest knife from the drawer and confidently stabbed right through a plastic lid deep into my middle finger. I was making a home for some small creatures I’d found under some wood in the garden and was trying to pierce breathing holes for them in an old yoghurt tub. Instead they were abandoned and I had to go to our local doctor after hours to have my skin sewn together in three neat little stiches. I’d been exploring the back garden of our then family home just a field away from the top of the cliffs above The Giants Causeway all day long. Looking back it seems there were hundreds of those days; outside, mucky, grazed knees, head full of imagination heart full of adventure. The kind of days that shaped me.