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From a very early age, his mother worked hard to channel him into the life of beauty and glamour befitting to a young woman, eventually becoming a model.

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    "Mummy, mummy! I don't want to do this!" I said, pulling a face as she sprayed me all over my chest with this cloying, girlish scent.

    "Hold onto Dolly, my darling," said Mummy, sitting me in her lap, smoothing my dress in front of me, my black shoes glistening at the end of the white socks, up over my knees, I wore them, and the dress, because she had told me to.

    "I know my darling," Mummy whispered in my ear, my long hair brushing against her cheek and my own. "There's a man coming to see us, darling, and I want him to think that you are, with your pretty hair and pretty dress. He'll call you Diana and Mummy will as well. He's going to take your picure, my darling. It will make us lots of money. I can buy you that baseball glove you wanted, the one in the store. Only, he wants a picture of a pretty, little girl and thinks that you are one. Your hair is so long! We'll get it cut very soon!"

    That was one of the first lies she told me. I never got my hair cut.