On our family holiday to Australia some twenty years ago, I (Bonny) lost my parents in a busy night market. I searched around all the stalls and back to the place where I had last seen them and even ventured to the outside part where I thought they might have headed to all to no avail. After what felt like 45 minutes of fruitless searching, hysterical and frantic I saw a group of Chinese tourists and ran up to them thinking that my parents would be among them. I got to the edge of the group and shouted at the top of my voice: "MUM, DAD!" Everyone turned around and none of them were my Mum or Dad. I decided that I would never call my parents Mum and Dad again,

I chose Ninja for my Dad because, as a child, I often conjured up images of my Dad, underneath his passive exterior, leading some secret life as a vigilante Ninja, who went out after we were all asleep clad head to toe in a Ninja outfit, under the cover of darkness, wielding a samurai sword and nunchucks. He'd kick bad-ass and right all wrongs. Then he'd be back in bed before any of us woke up.