An interesting question I like to ask people is how do you know when you’re a grown up? Everyone seems to have a different definition. One friend said it was owning a lawn mower. Another said having serious (if bland) conversations in the supermarket. For me, I’ve often thought it’s when your fridge no longer regularly contains slimy or mouldy things. However, despite the fact my fridge still often has gently decaying vegetables in it (why can’t I buy carrots that last more than three days?) I have recently come to the realisation that I am, in fact, a grown up. An early sign of it was when parents at the shopping mall no longer chided their children to “watch out for the girl”, but “watch out for the lady”. But it was the sense that, in lying in a pile of friends on the grass in the sun, we were doing something slightly less than decorous that has sealed it. I am no longer Peter Pan. That’s an its-summer-and-we’re-young formation that one would frequently find my friends in when we were teenagers. But now, real jobs and houses and money and lawn mowers and the first baby are, perhaps, conspiring against us and the wheel of time and societal expectations rolls on. But I hope there are still occasions for sunny, cheerful piles of people who think they’re not grown up yet.