When I’m lying on my death bed, deciding which events of my life I enjoyed the most, pretty high on the list will be the night I burned down a house with my Suffragette sisters. We did it for a television programme, and it was all perfectly legal and carefully managed. But the feeling of doing it, just for a few minutes, was not. It was a feeling of wild joy that we were doing something completely outrageous, something I’d been told, my whole life, that women simply don’t do.