I don’t think my father wanted children. He always said he felt like a failure. Early in his life, he’d had a brief and reckless marriage that ended before the birth of his firstborn, Jed. We had a solitary picture of Jed as a 10-year-old boy in our family album, but talking about him or the photo was discouraged. In later life, when I’d visit my father with my own children, he would sit on the sofa stiff and irritated as my mum cooked Sunday lunch. He would turn up the TV volume as his grandchildren played around him. At best he was distant, at worst sullen and angry. As a child, you accept things. We all have our own idea of normal. Witnessing my father’s interaction with my own kids prompted me to reflect on my relationship with him. It is possible that my new book, Single Dad, is a way of exploring what I missed out on.

If you’ve been to the gym recently – and by recently, we really mean in the last couple of years – there’s a good chance that you’ll have seen, heard, or perhaps even tried a Theragun. These handheld massage devices have appeared seemingly out of nowhere to become the latest must-have gadget among personal trainers and fitness enthusiasts, who praise them for their ability to rapidly soothe aching limbs and relieve tension.

Mr Sigurd Larsen may be one of the newest inductees to the MR PORTER Style Council, but this is not the first time he has graced our pages. In 2015, the Danish-born architect was one of five men we interviewed for a story in The Journal on his adopted hometown, Berlin, in which he spoke about the effects that gentrification and overtourism were having on the city. Today, like many cities around the world, Berlin faces a very different existential threat.

I realised my hair was starting to thin when the follicular facts were aggressively spelled out to me by my barber. I was in my mid-thirties and had what I assumed was a completely normal head of dark hair, which had been cut by the same jovial Syrian barber in central London for the previous decade. “It’s definitely going, mate,” he said. He pulled at my hair and shook his head like a builder sizing up a roof in need of major work. “No way you’ll be able to get married once your hair goes.” I was in the foothills of a condition that, according to the British Association of Dermatologists, affects about 50 per cent of men by the time they’re 50. It’s most commonly known as male pattern hair loss, but can also include a range of alopecia-based conditions from a temporary bald patch to a full and sudden loss of everything, including your eyelashes.

I don’t think my father wanted children. He always said he felt like a failure. Early in his life, he’d had a brief and reckless marriage that ended before the birth of his firstborn, Jed. We had a solitary picture of Jed as a 10-year-old boy in our family album, but talking about him or the photo was discouraged. In later life, when I’d visit my father with my own children, he would sit on the sofa stiff and irritated as my mum cooked Sunday lunch. He would turn up the TV volume as his grandchildren played around him. At best he was distant, at worst sullen and angry. As a child, you accept things. We all have our own idea of normal. Witnessing my father’s interaction with my own kids prompted me to reflect on my relationship with him. It is possible that my new book, Single Dad, is a way of exploring what I missed out on.

If you’ve been to the gym recently – and by recently, we really mean in the last couple of years – there’s a good chance that you’ll have seen, heard, or perhaps even tried a Theragun. These handheld massage devices have appeared seemingly out of nowhere to become the latest must-have gadget among personal trainers and fitness enthusiasts, who praise them for their ability to rapidly soothe aching limbs and relieve tension.