I nearly drove into a wall the other day, because I couldn’t take my eyes off some spectacular wisteria. Ten years ago I doubt I would have even noticed it, or known what it was, never mind been so transfixed that I unwittingly endangered my life. It’s pretty much invisible in your youth, and then suddenly, at a certain age, or stage, you see it, appreciate it and become mesmerised by its impressive display.

My botanical brush with death was the moment that I knew for certain: no matter how I feel inside, I am now unquestionably a grownup. This wisteria hysteria isn’t an isolated incident, of course. There have been several other definitely adult signifiers:

Obtaining self-esteem via washing

At some point, trying to get your whites as white as possible changed from the pursuit of a cliche housewife in a mildly offensive advert to something I truly, madly, deeply care about. Nowadays, I would lean in to hear a killer laundry tip faster and more eagerly than I would for a juicy piece of gossip. I could probably have........

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