My first school was called Roselands Infants. I remember walking there with my mum, carrying a satchel that was almost as big as I was. Slung across my shoulders, the brown leather smelt hot with the sun bouncing off the vivid orange reflective stripe. My blue shoes squeaked with newness as I skipped along the pavement.
Mum walked me into the classroom and vanished. Worried, I roamed the corridors looking for her, until the caretaker heard my cries. His brown overall shirt smelt like my grandfather’s wood shed, fusty and chemically reassuring. With his hand on my shoulder, he guided me back to my class room, along a never-ending brown tiled corridor.