My childhood was utterly chaotic. I was the youngest child of an immigrant family, who made their money taking in sick lodgers who came over from Iran to
get medical assistance. My mother was nurse and cook, and my father translator and driver. There were no family holidays, no family meals. And I didn’t have a room. I slept in the living-room after everyone had gone to bed. I’d fall asleep on the couch and they’d put a blanket over me while they carried on playing backgammon.
