Hats never stay on me. I have a funny-shaped head. I’ve always believed that when I was small, my brother threw a brick at me and it flattened the back of my head, so it’s not the right shape for hats.
My father is a shadow. He died when I was six; when I think of him, I just see a shape. He was a myth to me. I know stuff about his life [he was the Trinidadian politician Basil Kydd] and death, but I can’t see a full person. When I had children myself, it meant I had to make up what being a father was.
