As a child I really hated this colour, brought up as I was in a family that embraced the concept of feminism. When we grew up we were told we could do and be anything we wanted, I was a tomboy most of the time and I thought pink was for girls – and Barbie dolls, urghhh. Although Sindy was somehow a bit more gung- ho, mine had curly hair and most definitely did not have a pink wardrobe, or a boyfriend, let alone one called Ken. Independent and gutsy, pink was not for her.

As I’ve grown older and now have a daughter of my own I’ve finally been able to appreciate pink as a colour. It’s pretty, it’s uplifting and somehow simultaneously calming. It lights up the face and skin. My daughter was dressed in many colours as a baby, but never pink, but now she’s old enough to have a say, she regularly wears it from head to toe. I thought I would be horrified, but strangely I’m not.

Maybe that’s because I’ve managed to re-brand it in my head as Prison Pink – given it an edge, made it feel punk and cool. Now that I’ve managed to sell it to myself I love it. I first heard about prison pink a few years ago, and thought the concept was great – calm aggression with a spot of pastel décor, what a fantastic idea. And apparently it works, although small boys might baulk at the thought, those detained at her Madge’s pleasure don’t have a say, and they most definitely benefit from it as a result.