I just got shot back in time by the cowboy and Indian pattern on a stranger’s someone’s tote bag. I was walking behind the poor woman and found myself staring fixatedly at her bag, sunk into nostalgic memories of my grandmother’s house in Hampshire.

We stayed there very rarely when I was little, mainly because she didn’t like children. Yet on the one occasion I do recall stay over I slept in a room decorated with the most glorious un-PC wallpaper - all colourful cowboys and wagons, wigwams and Indians.

Long before we knew it was racist in any way, my sister and i used to play Red Indians for hours, usually sporting fearsome stripes of facepaints with feathers in our hair and bamboo canes standing in for spears.

My granny told me she’d chosen the wallpaper especially with me in mind, and whether that was true or not I remember feeling incredibly honoured she’d gone to so much bother. I still remember the look on her face when she told me, and how much I hoped that meant she liked me despite me being the youngest of her grandchildren, and by that reasoning the most childish of all.