The first time I ever went to London’s National Theatre, it was just for a drink. In London for the weekend, I was taken by a boyfriend – a man whose glamour only seemed enhanced by the fact that he knew his way around the South Bank. As we sipped vodka on those vast terraces overlooking the muddy Thames, I sensed that I was in a mammoth place, a mysterious, unfathomable complex. A place I would never find my way around – or even, possibly, out of.

The second time I went there was for a job interview. I got the job – my first job. And though I would never have predicted it, over the next few years, the “mammoth place” became as comfortable and easy to navigate as any home I’d ever had. In some ways, more so.