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It happened out of nowhere, on a Tuesday night. My firstborn, "my sunshine," as I always called him, was making me proud...or so I thought. My son had difficulty with impulse control in the past, but he was in counselling and seemed to be on the right track. At 17, he had secured a well-paying job and planned diligently for his future. He had always been a bright child, excelling in school, so I had high hopes that he would go to college and secure a successful career.

Close your eyes. Imagine you could live anywhere in the world. Money isn’t a consideration, logistics? No problem. Whatever you fancy is available… Got it? Let me guess what you got… a golden sandy beach? Sun rays warming your face? A sangria in one hand with a cabana boy fanning you from the side? Bingo. This is what I envisioned when I decided to move to the South of France with my, at the time, 9-month-old bundle of joy (baby, not a puppy, just to clarify).

‘She’s a right little madam.’ You might think that was quite a mean thing for a parent to say about their child, wouldn’t you? Now imagine there is a little more context, that the parent said: ‘Oh Zoë’s a lovely little girl. She’s funny, sweet… except when she doesn’t get a lolly before bed, then she’s a right little madam!’ We can go a little further. Imagine the parent laughed after they said that. Suddenly not quite so bad, huh?