Nothing kills that Sunday morning, post-bonk dance around the kitchen quite like having your dad pad into the room and say ‘Oh, are we having pancakes?’ before helping himself to some maple syrup and criticising your moves.
Inviting my dad, Bryan, now 81, to move home from Malaysia and live with me, my husband Gaz, 42, and son Heli, two, 12 years ago has been eventful. We bought a farmhouse in Wiltshire and converted the cowshed for Dad. He looked after me when I was a child, so it felt right to return that gift.
