REAL LIFE STORIES
JO-ELLEN MARSH always wondered about her biological father – a sperm donor. Was he famous? A tycoon? After turning 18, she found out...
ONE OF MY earliest memories was when I was about four or five and chanting The Lord's Prayer in school assembly. But it's not the words, the school hall or the teachers I remember most. It's the flavours, because The Lord's Prayer tasted unmistakably of bacon.
THE TEXT MESSAGE forwarded to me from my younger sister Saira was concise and chilling: 'Mum's sent a hit man to kill you,' it read. 'Be careful.'
WHEN IT FIRST happened, I was a 21-year-old undergraduate. I had been up late the night before writing my dissertation and drinking a lot of coffee, but on that particular morning I was stone cold sober and hangover-free. I stood up, reached down to pick up the TV remote control from the floor and felt my foot sink into the ground. Glancing down, I saw that my leg was plunging into the carpet.