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I was born in the seaside town of Morecambe, Lancashire and until my mum met my stepdad and we moved inland to Blackburn, we lived with my Nan and Pop – Ida and Colin. The Hemingways were a working–class, Yorkshire family (Nan had moved to Morecambe for health reasons), thrifty and careful. Nan and Pop died a decade ago – I miss them dearly, but I can still taste the veg that Pop grew in their tiny back garden, the fruit he grew in his home-made greenhouse, the stews that Nan made in Pyrex casserole dishes that were clean but ingrained from 30 years of cooking the same stewing steak and onions. I can smell the homely smell of sofas, cushions and rugs that had served them well since the fifties, and my school butties wrapped in old Co-op bags and sealed in Tupperware.