I have never seen my mother angrier than when I announced, at the age of 11, that my ultimate goal was to marry a rich man.
Outraged that I hadn’t absorbed her feminist attitude, she responded plainly: ‘No, if you want to be rich, you must make money for yourself. Never rely on a man for cash.’
It is a motto I have endeavoured to live by. It meant I was proud to be the breadwinner throughout my nine-year relationship – until, that is, it ended abruptly, just six months after I walked down the aisle at the age of 31, when my betrothed announced he didn’t want to be married after all.
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