When I was eight, I lived in fear of never making a friend. Then I made one, and lived in fear of her finding any other friends. Rosie was in the year below, puckish, quite surreal and completely carefree, which made her magnetic. You couldn’t do so much as a tour of the playground without someone thinking she would be a great addition to a skipping cartel, British bulldogs or a plot. She also had great hand-eye coordination, so, even without her character, her qualities would have been in high demand. This meant I had a medium-level phobia of playgrounds, which I managed as best I could by hiding it and praying for rain.