ILLUSTRATION: JESSICA DURRANT/GETTY IMAGES
I’VE BEEN FEELING prickly. Trying to remember the last time I lay on wet sand, waves rippling over me. I miss my island holidays. Cypriot blood has me hankering after the swell… aquamarine, salty, cool. Diving beneath the water balances my fire, of which I have always had too much; hot-blooded, hot hands, hot temper, at times. I’ve never swum in the English sea… I grew up with a family who turned up their noses at the raucous redness of our ‘fish and chips seaside’, so far removed from the magical powder sand of Cyprus, dripping peaches and limonata as the sun sets.