I grew up on the coast, so seaside picnics were commonplace. The first one usually took place just before Easter. I’d set off for Ballintoy with my grandparents, flasks of milky coffee, Tree Top orange squash and ham sandwiches packed in the boot of the car.
I always wanted things to be wilder and more extravagant than they were, though; I wanted to spread a big linen cloth on the sand and unpack freshly cooked crab, pots of mayonnaise and crusty white bread.
The beaches on the Northern Irish coast are stunning, but I dreamed of coastlines abroad – wild Breton beaches and neat New England ones. I had an idea of what Italy would be like because of Morelli’s, the ice-cream parlour in my home...