It isn’t that I yearn for affection because I’ve had a rubbish childhood. I had a good, loving upbringing. Mum and Dad (when he was present) have always showered me with cuddles and encouragement, but at school I was always desperate to be like my friends. I wanted to spend school holidays at home and chill out with mates. I wanted to have Mum and Dad at home every night for tea together. I wanted to wake up on Christmas morning in my own bed. But it wasn’t often like that.

I always felt like I lived on a wobble board – slightly unstable, never quite safe.

Dad plays in an orchestra. He’s a good, well great, musician so he travels all over the country, all over the world. And Mum has always gone with him whenever she can – which meant I went too until I was old enough to stay on my own.

If I’m honest, I’ve always felt a bit like a gooseberry, because when Mum and Dad are together, they are totally together if you get what I mean. They are mad about each other, but that wasn’t the full reason for tagging along. It’s when they’re apart that the problems start. Dad is a flirt, a total idiot who forgets what really matters in the heat of the moment. Mum was scared that if she wasn’t there to watch out for the warning signs, then one day he might not come back. I mean, how does that make any sense?

I’ve never actually been in full-blown, mad-for-you, can’t-live-without-you kind of love. And after growing up with that, I don’t want to be. It sucks.

With Robbie it was more we-get-on-well, share-a-sense-of-humour and we-slot-together-like-two-worn-wooden-spoons affectionate love. It worked for me. I was happy with that. More than. Because I’ve seen what full-on passion, letting the brakes off and bearing-your-soul-completely kind of love can do to somebody. I’ve watched a person I love having their heart used like a punching bag. I’ve joined them on the rollercoaster of will they, won’t they? I’ve watched the way they’ve carefully rebuilt the fragile shell of emotions, only to let the person they love shatter them into tiny pieces again, because they just can’t help it. They can’t step away. And I’ve kind of understood, because even though I’ve hated Dad, I’ve loved him, too. And like my mum, I could never quite give up on him, never stop thinking that maybe one day he’d change. That it could be different.

I couldn’t turn my back and walk away from my dad – so how could I expect Mum to?

So, I get it. But I’ve learned from it. I am never ever going to leave my heart open to that kind of hurt, to the destruction of love.

I mean, no high can ever be worth emotional lows that are so crashing they leave your body feeling as broken as your heart, can they? Nope.

So yeah, my parents’ relationship is a bit of a car crash, a bad addiction.