Later that summer, while I was waiting for news of my first job, I thought to myself: 39;One day I shall have to explain all this.39; What I meant was, to write about my father, his life and the distance which had come between us during my adolescence. Although it had something to do with class,it was different, indefinable. Like fractured love. I realize now that a novel is out of the question. In order to tell the story of a life governed by necessity, I have no right to adopt an artisticapproach, or attempt to produce something 39;moving39;or gripping39;. I shall collate my father39;s words, tastes and mannerisms, the main events of his life, all the external evidence of his existence, an existence which I too shared.