When I was born, we lived for three years in a flat my grandfather owned. It was on the seafront in Anstruther. Meanwhile, across town, my father was building our home, a higgledy-piggledy house that looked like a bungalow from the outside but was built on several levels. It’s quite an amazing place: open-plan and perfect for shouting to somebody at the other end of the house without moving, a trick my brother and I used to great effect.

My mother and father still live there, so the memories flood back every time I walk through the front door. I love going back. The strains and stresses of being a grown-up and parent disappear when you step inside. For a moment, it feels like being a child again, with your own parents fussing over you.

The house was modern for its time. My parents, and my father in particular, wanted to build something that was a bit different from the other houses in Anstruther. I don’t know who designed it but my parents were heavily involved. My father is an electrician, so he was always very hands-on around the house fixing things.

My first memories are of summertime, endless summertimes. We lived close to the beach — it was about five minutes’ walk — so we spent most of the summer there, clambering in and out of the sea and looking for crabs in the rock pools.

It was a healthy upbringing, and I love the idea of a time when children were left to their own devices. In summer I would get up early, get breakfast then head out to play in the garden or on the beach for hours, only coming back for a bit of lunch, before going out again until tea time. Nowadays that isn’t possible. I wouldn’t let my child disappear for the whole day without checking up on him. It’s a shame that the younger generations won’t have those same freedoms growing up.

The winters were beautiful, too, and from about November it was always freezing in a really nice way. Nice in the sense that I was wrapped up inside with the fire on. I have a vivid recollection of watching the waves crash over the harbour wall and waiting to see if the next one would be bigger than the last.

I was very into dancing and the majorettes, anything vaguely sporty. I played netball, hockey, karate ... the list is endless. Yes, I used to do karate — I got as far as my purple belt before I gave it up. My father would always get onto me about the fact that I would start things and never finish them. Karate was a way of getting rid of that pent-up teenage frustration — that time when nobody understood me — though I’m not sure my mother appreciated me karate chopping my way around the house when she was trying to get the tea.

When my brother, who is seven years younger than me, came along, I became his entertainer. I was delighted when he was born: there wasn’t a hint of sibling rivalry or jealously. I was his big sister and looker-after, and I relished the job. I used to walk him around the house in his pram and help my mother feed him. We had a mini-train that you could sit on, and I just used to spend hours going round and round the garden in circles.

The house was a drop-in centre for our friends and relatives — it still is. People were always popping round for a cup of tea, a bit of my mum’s Malteser cake and a gossip.

In our house, formalities were dispensed with at the front door. There was just a: “Hello, come on in. I’ll put the kettle on. Would you like a piece of Malteser cake?” Mum was such a home body and nurturer — she still is. I think it came from growing up in a hotel. After the cake, or before it sometimes, she’d offer to make them their tea. A curry, perhaps. She spent a great deal of time making sure everybody was fed and watered, every relative and every waif and stray that I or my brother would bring home from school.

The kitchen is still my favourite room; I always gravitate there when I go back home. It’s a big old kitchen with a huge table and a couple of comfy couches — there always seemed to be somebody sitting in one of them, reading or having a cup of tea. It’s the heart of a house, of course, but I’m still always tempted by the amazing array of food that’s on offer on any given day. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

Edith Bowman is hosting T in the Park 2009 on BBC Three, BBC One Scotland and BBC Two Scotland, from Friday, July 10; www.bbc.co.uk/tinthepark

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