Most people would presume my childhood ended abruptly aged 14 when my dad died. In truth, I’d say it ended a little beforehand - one sunny August afternoon when my dad struggled to find the words to explain that he had cancer as I sat next to him on a picnic bench with a Calippo melting in my hand. It wasn’t his diagnosis as such that sent pubescent me into a tailspin, more the fact that it made me question everything that I knew to be true