Once upon a time there was a woman who discovered she had turned into the wrong person . . . That’s me, by the way. I’m going to tell you a story about three months that upended my life. And you are not going to like me. You may even hate me – honestly, I hated myself at times. You’re going to think I’m a conniving, duplicitous, selfish monster. You’re going to think I’m the worst sister, mother, daughter, wife and friend in the whole wide world. But, believe me, there were pretty extenuating circumstances. Once I’ve explained it all to you – and no doubt been hospitalised for chronic gravel rash on the knees from grovelling – well, I’m hoping I can change your mind.
It started on my fiftieth birthday. I was standing on a beachside balcony peering back through the glass doors at my birthday shindig. I’ve watched the video of what came next a gazillion times through mortified fingers, so I can give you a blow-by-blow account of the day my life went tits-up.