I was born in London in 1970, missing the sixties by ten days.  They had flared babygros in those days. 
We had a major move when I was eight – to the dreaded provinces.  And then again when I was eleven, this time back to The Oul Sod.  The Dublin of 1981:  Recession first time around.  It was all people talked about and thought about.  A bit like now.  I was a reserved, well-behaved English child, sent to one of the roughest schools in Dublin.  That knocked the corners off me and the stuffing out of me. 
Then Trinity College.  What a contrast. 
Where did I fit into all of this? 
I failed to work it out during the time I was there.  I’m only beginning to work it out now. 
I took the back door into Law.  How fascinating to study, how nauseating to practise. 
I lasted five years.  It felt like fifty. 
And stepped joyfully out of it into a book contract.  Hallelujah! 
The children came next.  Book.  Baby.  Book.  Baby.  Book. 
A creative time in all sorts of ways.  And now what? 
The baby production has slowed down, the book production has not. 
The ambition remains the same: 
To dig deep and write the very best of what’s inside. 
And when that’s done, to do it all again.  Better.  Deeper. 
Until everything that’s inside is used up. 
Except I don’t think it ever will be. 
I’ve always loved to travel. 
But no journey compares to the journey within.
Tara.