hen I was kid growing up in the 1980s, my family’s striped brown-and-orange three-seater swing chair was a hub when it came to relaxation destinations around our home. It was situated underneath a sunny verandah overlooking a lush lawn bordered with roses, alyssum and a silver birch. Aunties and uncles and grandparents congregated on it and chatted the hours away during birthday parties and Christmases, my dad would pop home on his lunch break and sit there in the sun while he worked his way through a giant plate of sandwiches and read his library book, and many a
