MANGOES ARE DEEPLY embedded in my childhood. Even now the smell or taste of the fruit connects me instantly to hot summers in Brisbane. I can see myself as a seven-­year-­old sitting under the sprinkler with mango juice running through my fingers, fighting my siblings for the seed. Sweet, sticky mangoes signalled that summer had begun, school was over and holidays had started. Mangoes just seemed to arrive – and in abundance. How that happened, of course, meant nothing to me. Looking back, I think my lifelong passion for mangoes began to bud in that time.