Ruth Davidson: ‘It took me ages to work out that people weren’t any better than me’

‘It was only in my mid-30s that I got to a calmer, less restless place.’ Photograph: James Glossop

I’m a Scottish mongrel. I grew up in a village in Fife, but was born in the Scottish Borders to working-class parents. My dad worked in textile mills and mum had various secretarial posts. They grew up on Glasgow council estates and had left school by 16.

I was run over by a truck when I was five. I broke my leg, fractured my pelvis, crushed my femoral artery and severed a nerve. I was pavement jam. When the paramedics arrived at the scene and asked how I felt, I said, “Fine, thank you”: that’s what I’d been brought up to say. Looking back, now with my own child, it amazes me my parents didn’t wrap me up in cotton wool afterwards.