PHOTO FOX FISHER
A few weeks ago I was on a packed train with my five-year-old son, squished between suits and newspapers and manspreaders on the 08.03 from Southend to London. We weren’t going to London, we were going to school; one of the perks of moving house at the end of a school year is being assigned a new primary school 14 miles from your front door, a two-hour round trip. I don’t mind it, it’s usually uneventful, and we have breakfast and do reading on the train on the way in.
This particular morning, Small Boy had something other than breakfast and the latest instalment of Biff and Chip on his mind: “Mamapapa, why AREN’T you married?”