My twenties. We lived in a groovy little run down half-house in a suburb just outside the city mile. The house was built c 1900 and had an amazing bathroom with hand glazed majolica tiles and the kitchen had pink tiles with a black and white “racing stripe” frieze and an old double fireplace. We were newly married which for me meant that I was finally free of overly involved conservative parents and had my first car (an MG). I worked for the agency which meant I could walk to either of the two major hospitals from home and my husband would pick me up and we would have hot chocolate at a cafe before bed. Weekends we would walk to the city markets and buy veges and cheese and interesting old stuff at the bricabrac stalls. Then I got knocked up, fell victim to medical negligence, and spent the next few years trying to kill myself.