It was the books. Children, at all cost, should be kept away from books. My formative years were spent cutting out ‘plans’ from the likes of Conde Nast’s Traveller and imagining all sorts of mischief I could get up to in those far away unpronounceable lands. I whiled away time reading the likes of The Swiss Family Robinson and just hoping that with some sheer stroke of luck, I too could be marooned on a far off island – but of course with the ability to snap my finger and magic myself  some home comforts, like hot cocoa, more books and a nice warm bath. I have always lived a life looking out. My surroundings, where my unconventional tastes and sensibilities made me both a target and pariah, definitely contributed to the need to escape. There’s really no need to delve into the particulars of it all, because I’m still personally making sense of it all. What was at least certain was that I have always wanted to be free. But from what? I wouldn’t dare call myself an escapist – But aren’t …