One way of reading my life is that I have been in constant search for a father.
They wanted to hear about the sex, of course. But not the rest; no one wanted to hear the rest.
Men, all men, were always trying to get hold of me, you know.
I have survived and possibly I should not hope for more than that.
I never found anyone who was good enough, who I could trust enough.
I took on the sins of everybody, of a generation, really.