Twenty nine years, eleven months and eighteen days ago, I was born. As my exhausted mother slept, my father held me up to the thunderstorm raging over West London beyond the hospital window and whispered to his bawling infant son, barely a few hours old, “See that? That’s the world.” This was the first day of my life; the first brushstroke on a blank canvas. The experiences that would make me the person I’ve become as I write this were unknown; most of those now close to me didn’t yet even exist. I could achieve anything. I could become anyone.

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