So, here is where, perhaps, my memoirs will really start. Another key point, a nodal point, late in 1964, with me aged 27, married and expecting my first baby. Increasingly worried about balancing the needs of a sick mother, recently diagnosed with dementia, an...
I never felt I wanted to write a straightforward autobiography. I think it would be impossible to be detached enough to be really honest, and if I wasn’t honest, it would feel unsatisfying. Anyway, I guess I embarrass my children enough without that. My style is...
This strange little adventure, my very own Brief Encounter, probably belongs to my 20th year. I was a little low in spirits as the train whistled and clanked out of the Gare du Lyon that summer day. I had cried all the way to Folkestone after an argument with my...
