Rifling through a box of goodies, I fumbled through the contents - an old teddy bear, some CDs, and empty photo frames.
Just then, I caught sight of a barely-used eyeshadow palette, and my eyes widened with excitement.
‘Please can I have this, Daddy?’ I asked.
My dad Robert, then 47, had taken me and my brothers to a car boot sale - one of his favourite past times.
He’d given us a fiver each, and while Harry, then, 11, and William, 10, had run off to salvage the latest video games, my eight-year-old heart was set on makeup.
‘You don’t need all that,’ my dad laughed.
‘Please, Daddy?’ I begged, my eyes wide. ‘Go on then,’ he smiled.
It was 2010, and despite Dad and my mum Linda, then…