I’ve always known I was donor-conceived. As an adult, it is something I take joy in – knowing the unique way I came to be born. Long gone are the days of being afraid that a schoolboy would tease me that the sperm donor my parents used only wanted a couple of quid in his pocket and a glance at some risque magazines.
Now, you can catch me boring old friends, strangers I meet in the smoking area, or even first dates about it; sharing with pride a vegan recipe my donor-sibling (dibling) has texted me or the holiday photos I’ve just received from my sperm donor.