Kirsty Wark: ‘I’m known to be an interrupter. My kids just tell me to shut up’

My earliest memory is waking up aged three thinking someone had slapped me. I vividly remember the sensation, before opening my eyes to an empty room. That’s how I learned about dreams.

Mine was a traditional west of Scotland, middle-class, Presbyterian childhood. Mum didn’t work once she became a mother; Dad was a lawyer in Glasgow, always in a fedora and smart suit. We had a real sense of freedom in Kilmarnock: out on my bike in the morning, not back until night.

Acting was my dream, but my parents steered me in another direction. I applied to university and drama school, and was offered places at both. I often wonder what might have happened had things gone the other way.

At a university careers fair, I’d said I wanted to work for the BBC. Young women, I was told, only join to be secretaries. I applied, but it didn’t appeal. Thankfully, a friend sent me a job advert for graduate journalists. I was accepted, and have never looked back.

Staying in Scotland was a no-brainer. I lived in London for a year, but have otherwise always called Glasgow home, and commuted down. Being here means I know different people, have other contacts, understand what matters to this part of the United Kingdom. It’s not a better perspective, but a different one.

Being part of the Queen’s funeral coverage was a real privilege. It was momentous to witness history before my eyes. The first flat I purchased was on Edinburgh’s Royal Mile – I know that street intimately. I’ll forever remember seeing the body travelling from Holyrood to St Giles.

I have been known to be an interrupter. There’s a time constraint during interviews; you’re trying to get a conversation somewhere against the clock. After being on air, it can take some time to adjust. When needed, my kids just tell me to shut up.

For every politician not up to the mark, there’s another with good intentions. There are those who focus on supporting constituents; others who are willing to speak out, even to the detriment of their careers. I see them in every party – it gives me heart.

The Isle of Arran is special. It offers me peace, beauty and familiarity; where I wrote my first novel. Boarding the ferry and sitting down with my fried-egg roll and coffee is a ritual that brings me real joy.

My children are my greatest achievement. My husband would say I indulge them, and that’s not unfair. When I went to university, Mum wrote once a week and sent fortnightly food parcels. My approach is different: constant communication. Honestly? They nurture me.

Twitter is only part of the story, it’s easy to forget that. Beyond the echo chamber, there’s a lot more to see and hear. And the nastiness it brings out in normal people is breathtaking. It staggers me that people can be so full of bile.

When I started at the BBC, the idea that a show like Newsnight might have an all-women line up would’ve been seen as preposterous. There was much heralding it when it was announced. I understand why – at one point it was unthinkable. Frankly, I thought it was long overdue.

Good diary planning has been the key to my marriage. So often, the two of us are in different cities. It might sound tedious, but getting our calendars aligned ensures we spend time together, communicating. And that the dogs aren’t accidentally left alone for hours on end.

The first episode of Newsnight Global broadcasts from Taipei on 24 October