My first memory of Sunday school was when I was five years old. Initially it was interesting, but as I grew older I started to find it boring. By the time I was eight or nine, I was one of the more disruptive children in the group. To me, church was about history lessons, and I started to hear the same story more than once. I understood that God existed and Jesus existed. I understood the concept of prayer, but I didn't really expect God to answer my prayers.
When I was eleven years old, my parents moved to Steyning, and my mum started to send me to the local Methodist church. I didn't see the services as anything other than boring routine. I would pass the time by measuring how many pages (down to the fraction) there were to go to the end of the service. The Sermon was always the tough bit, because no progress was made down the page for about 10 minutes.