Throughout my life, my relationship with my father has been, at best, diplomatic. I am a 37-year-old gay man who has done well for himself: I live on my own in the flat I bought outright and I go travelling around the world at least once a year. My father and I have never really got along, mainly because we are such different people. He’s into sports; I’m not. He’s a womaniser; I’m gay. He likes to ask my sisters for money because (in his words) they have to give him it (he has a much younger partner and is in debt); I am very much financially independent.
My dad is getting old now and we rarely speak. We live in different cities, so we hardly ever see each other. If we speak on the phone, the conversation lasts about four minutes at the most.
