From the time that I was five years old, my father, then in his mid-forties, brought me occasionally to “the store” as he called it.

We’d hollow out rock hard swedes with sharp knives. When we lit the stump of a candle inside them, the smell of singed swede was beguiling.

About a year ago, I had the pleasure of forming the first ever girls boxing club in Luxor. It was somewhat revolutionary, no exaggeration.