I arrived at the entrance to the trailer park and checked the address Dad had given me over the phone....

I am not the empathiser I had always hoped to be!’ I cry out, woeful, desperate, my negligee saturated in lipstick, ink stains and bile.

I grew up in a place where everything – and I mean absolutely everything, from welcoming a new baby into the world to saying goodbye to someone going into the other world – is marked by some sort of eating.