On a sadder note, I was raised in a war-torn country, where your freedoms were threatened with a bullet or a bomb at every moment by stepping into the wrong district anywhere in the Irish or British Isles. We were bombed out of our house, with just a 20- to 30-minute warning. We had to check under our cars for incendiary devices, and informants were regularly kneecapped for playing both sides of the fence, but a lot of people who died did not even get a warning. The epoch of these terrible times was in my small home town on 8 November 1987 when the Remembrance Day service bomb massacre claimed the lives of 11 people—10 civilians and one police officer. Sixty-three were injured. This formed a turning point in the Troubles and personified the evils of sectarianism and division, and all the darkness that it brings. 