My Father, the Hero

My Father, the Hero

It’s Father’s Day. As is traditional, I have bought my dad a bottle of Molton Brown shower gel. It occurs to me as I wrap it up, that I have never, in the forty-lots years I’ve been his daughter, known him take a bath. This is not to say he is a man...
The Mothers’ Race

The Mothers’ Race

“Have a look at these,” says my friend Sarah, placing a box of trainers onto my kitchen table. “Altra Escalante, zero drop. One hundred and twenty quid’s worth of running technology!” I look at her, confused. “Have you been invited to join the Kenyan...