THE DREAMER
I guess I was, even very early on, a dreamer. Mum said that I was three weeks overdue, was in no hurry to be born, and as soon as I finally made an appearance, I put my thumb in my mouth and went back to sleep. My Dad, with a smile and a twinkle in his eye, gave me an ornament - a small china dog in a kennel - which had the legend above it Dreamy . As a child, I dreamed of being famous; that someone would discover my talents for music, for drama, for public speaking, for writing. My head was full of myths and legends, dragons and castles, and, of course , white knights and princes. On the school playing field, I kissed Robbie S. and thought he was THE ONE. He wasn’t. We were five years old; he was horrified and threatened to tell. He didn’t, but I was scared. Learning to play tennis, I dreamed of eminence and fortune, but all that happened was that Teddy R. kissed me behind the tennis pavilion after luring me there with an ice-cold Coke. I didn’t fancy him at all, w