When my daughter Ruby was small, she was permanently attached to a small toy dinosaur that we christened Derek. Derek was born in Ikea, but with Ruby he travelled the globe.
He went with her to the toilet. He went with her to Sainsbury’s. And he went with her to visit Granny and Grandad in Belfast. We all loved Derek, but Ruby’s love for him bordered on obsession. This was fine when we had him with us - it was not fine when we realised we’d left him behind.
As the terrible truth dawned, I swung into action. Derek, I said, was having a sleepover at the airport. He was living the dinosaur dream; surfing the luggage carousels. But he would be safely returned within the next 24 hours, (the time it took for me to order an identical dinosaur online from Ikea).
Trad Wives: solution or symptom?
In an age of progress and increasing gender equality, one movement might strike us as profoundly counter-cultural: Trad Wives. It’s …