Very little advice I was provided with when I was younger helped me negotiate life in a meaningful way. I actually forgot to hit first and, as a result, was hit. It was my Nanna who provided me with the two words that would eventually sink in and guide me. I used to stay with her on a Monday night before I attended Cubs at Saint Mark’s hall in Fitzroy. She would make me a roast dinner, we would sit at her kitchen table and she would tell me stories about her childhood in Tasmania. Nan favoured ghost stories and could tell them well. By the end of one of her tales, I would be deeply afraid and would ask her had she become afraid herself when confronted by a ghost as a small girl.