My birth is obviously something I don’t remember. I do know it was on August in 1982, at least that is what is printed on my birth certificate anyway. I lived in Caterham for most of my early life. Originating from Foxon Lane, my Dad’s childhood home, my earliest memory is that of Nanny Nancy passing away. Not the happiest of memories I know, and they come and go in flashes rather than full blown pictures. A lot of memories have faded away or been hidden from me trying block out the bad stuff that happened as I grew up. I remember my first kiss, though he would never admit to it, was with Andy Dalgleish at Hillcroft School in the girls’ toilets. But certain things like a trip to Disneyland, Florida, I wish I had memories of. Photos I’ve seen show that I had a good time but I don’t remember any of them. Again, vague flashes of my dad and Uncle Brian chasing me round the hotel swimming pool, pretending to be Jaws, and being stopped at a Stateside Checkpoint in our rental car by a Highway Patrol Officer for some reason or other, the poster on the window of a gun; these stand out. Unfortunately meeting Disney characters and sitting in Elvis Presley’s cars in his museum cannot be found in my cerebral muscle anywhere. Even trips to Riverside Caravan Park in Bognor Regis and desperately going around Bognor trying to find a Shakin’ Stevens T-Shirt, resulting in my mum and Aunt Annette clubbing together to get his name printed on one for me, I don’t remember. Sadly, what I do remember is the things I try to forget.