I was a very devout child. I loved the drama of Mass; the solemn bowing of heads, the kneeling before an altar carved of gold, the heady scent of incense. For a little girl who wholeheartedly believed in magic – I blame Enid Blyton – the concept of transubstantiation was a thrilling one, watching as a man turned bread and wine into flesh and blood. I went through a period of wanting to be a...