You know those people you meet and almost immediately, before you really know them, before you’ve shared anything personal, before you’ve learned what makes them tick, you know with a burning truth in your core that they’re an absolute arsehole?  Heather isn’t one of those people. Heather’s brilliant. Heather’s not an arsehole. As she pulled up in her wee red car, unfathomably early in the morning, to pick me up outside my home, I knew straight away we were going to get along. Her exuberant personality was evident as I opened the car door, a beaming smile and a joyous greeting forced me to step out of my early morning crotchetiness despite the cockcrow of first light still ringing in my ears.  Heather greeted me like a childhood friend. I could almost access false memories of parties, shared banter and trips to the pub, such was the wholesome familiarity with which she hailed me into the car. Yet this was only my third time meeting Heather in person, and those other me...