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When my parents' disintegrating marriage became dangerously gin-fuelled, I left home. I was 10. I placed my Observer's Book of Aircraft and a pair of battered brass binoculars into the sturdy tomato box affixed to the carrier of my royal blue Raleigh 3-speed bicycle and set off. The ride - to my grandparents - was not physically far, but it was as profound a journey as I have ever undertaken. For I found in their house not only love and security but... |