Struck Drunk –
Aug 19, 2019 – My mum died when I was 36, after 25 years of fighting cancer. Six weeks later, in September 1991, my dad died of a broken heart. He was in perfect health, but that day he said his heart was racing. He went to the hospital and just died.
Until that summer, I had a fairytale life. Married to an accountant, living in the outskirts of London with two children, aged eight and 11, in private schools – my life was a whirlwind of lunches at the golf club, weekends at health farms and glamorous nights out in the city. My life was easy and I didn’t want for anything. I went to Ascot, to Wimbledon … I was living the life I wanted.
