I had a complicated relationship with my biological father. Now I have no relationship at all. Sad, but there we are. The only thing he has ever said to me about my writing is that he expects me to never write about him, and that if I ever do so he will get ‘his lawyers’ on to me and also disinherit me. This is an idle threat — my father does not ‘have lawyers’, and even if he did there isn’t anything they could do, and he has already done the disinheriting part.
So, in this post, I’m writing about him. For the first time; there may well be more. Most of it is behind the paywall, for hopefully obvious reasons. Please do consider upgrading your subscription. For the next few days I’m offering 40% off the first year of an annual subscription, which works out at less than 70p per week. For this you’ll get access to this post and the full archive.
It’s Christmas Day. Well, the early hours of Boxing Day, to be precise. Four-in-the-morning, to be even precise-er.
My cousin and I are drinking. Tea. We gave up the whisky hours ago. After a day that veered wildly from Bucks Fizz with breakfast, through white wine and onto red, then took a detour into beer before winding back to red, we’d drunk enough. As well as driving, we’re talking. We have a lot to talk about.
My paternal cousin, is my biological father’s sister’s son. We were born ten months apart, he being the older, and spent a good deal of our childhood together. But my mother’s split from his uncle (my biological father) was acrimonious. I was forced to take sides — by him, not her — and as a result I didn’t see anyone from my biological father’s side, including my cousin, for decades.