Kissing has gone from something I once feared and anticipated to something that meant nothing much at all to me to something that is now just reassuringly ordinary. Does that sound boring? I don't mean it to. What kissing means to me now is warmth, familiarity, comfort. Love. I wouldn't change it for anything.
If any of these occurrences had been done by a stranger or a random club-goer I would probably have shouted or slapped or let the Irish rage bubbling up inside erupt. Instead I kept quiet and for the most part, laughed it off. So as not to cause unnecessary drama amongst friendships or to maintain a polite-ish persona.
I was thirteen and three-quarters at the time. And although kissing somebody was on my bucket list, Great Auntie Maud looked nothing like a) Andrew Ridgeley from Wham, b) John Taylor, the bass guitarist from Duran Duran, or c) Stephen Jones from Form 3C, who were the usual objects of my kissing fantasies.
Kissing is vital in any relationship. While a gentle squeeze on the arm or the arse can remind your partner you care, a kiss on the lips - even if it's a quick peck in the supermarket - is the internationally understood shorthand for intimacy. And you have to really mean it, or your lacklustre kiss gives you away.