I could count on one hand the number of Father’s Day presents I’ve been given over 25 years: bugger all, barring some early teacher-mandated cards crusted with glittery macaroni shells and inscribed, “My dad’s a cool dad!”

We didn’t celebrate Father’s or Mother’s Day when I was growing up. My father, a strait-laced businessman, didn’t believe in it. He didn’t put much stock in birthdays either. If asked what he wanted he would say, annoyingly, “just give me a kind smile” – which, of course, meant he got nothing most years.