Chicken. Chicken is probably the one food I would happily die for. Fried chicken. Roast chicken. Itty little bits of chicken battered in KFC’s finest. My favourite meal as a kid was chicken, potatoes and beans. I’m a cheap date, what can I tell ya. There’s something so satisfying about ripping the meat off the bones, eating it with your hands, fighting over who gets the wings in your family and the little nubbin at the back of the body, which is somehow so crispy and so rich in smoky skin flavour, but so thoroughly underrated when it’s completely intoxicating.

There’s a sense of power that comes when you’re dancing and owning your own body. A shimmer of recognition runs through the little group around you, because as each one of you gives into the music and dances with a little more wild abandon, you give each other the confidence to really, truly let go. It’s the thrill, the feeling of being looked at, but secretly knowing that it’s not for anyone else.