So this is the story of my last ever smacking with Mum’s hand. Later, and only very occasionally, she’d use one of my Dad’s old Dunlop tennis shoes. But that’s another story or three. I was brought up in a rather lovely old crumbly house in the Welsh Marches, and in 1970 I was five years old and the family had lived in the house since 1968. We’d stay there until the early 1980s. I got the odd smacked bottom at home from I don’t know when, four years old maybe, but they were quick, sharp, informal and all over