All I know about my father is that, one day in August 1971, he went into an office in Harley Street, masturbated into a bottle, was paid and left.
In all probability that is all I will ever know. Not for me the chance of asking for his details, as would be the case if I were adopted. The doctor who facilitated my conception is now dead, and in any case he claimed, when contacted years ago, that all his records had been destroyed.
I did not know, until I lost it, how much my sense of identity was rooted in my knowledge of who my parents were.
Read the full, original story: My dad was a sperm donor. My lack of identity reflects his
