Dear Phoebe, Looking back, I suppose that at the time the decision to build you a boat must have seemed like a really terrific idea. Did I pause, even for a moment, to consider whether your daddy-a soft-handed, desk-bound modern man with few tools, limited practical abilities, and an ignominious record of DIY disaster-could possibly master the necessary skills'? More than two years on, it's hard to remember. But I do know that in the weeks and months after you were born I found myself in a strange, unfamiliar place. Pacing the floor night after sleep-deprived night with this inexpressibly precious new life in my arms, my mental compass swung wildly from emotionally charged elation to morbid musings about your future and- s a father, for the second time, at 58-my chance of playing much of apart in it. This wasn't an entirely unfounded concern. In February 2012, after suffering mild chest pains while running, I underwent a wholly unexpected multiple coronary artery bypass operation. So much for a lifetime of not smoking, always eating and drinking sensibly, and exercising regularly. None of it, it seems, had been sufficient to defuse the ticking time-bomb of a genetic defect that starts lining the arteries with gunk from an early age.
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