My earliest memory is waking up aged three thinking someone had slapped me. I vividly remember the sensation, before opening my eyes to an empty room. That’s how I learned about dreams.
Mine was a traditional west of Scotland, middle-class, Presbyterian childhood. Mum didn’t work once she became a mother; Dad was a lawyer in Glasgow, always in a fedora and smart suit. We had a real sense of freedom in Kilmarnock: out on my bike in the morning, not back until night.
