touching Archive

One sunny afternoon, when I was around 13 or 14, I was walking down Tottenham High Road hand-in-hand with one of my uncles. He wasn’t a blood relative but, like many of the older men in my community, I called him uncle. I was born in Kinshasa in the Congo, a society

Holidays were always very grim because we had a four week holiday: two weeks mummy and two weeks daddy, and the trauma of going from one house to another, and each individual parent trying to make it up in their area with material things rather than the actual tactile stuff, which is