It was 1976 and a brand new year, things back at the ranch had run their normal course, the traditional Christmas, with mum going crackers while we all pulled them.
I'm sure dad had a Bass shandy or two on Christmas day and gave my young brother Paul a weak one, while we older brothers had moved on to more adult drinks, mum would cherish a Malibu and Grandad a sweet sherry.
Christmas 1975 at the Cottage on Pottery Lane was the last I can remember where we celebrated as a family in Whiston, Lancashire.
Life soon changed for all of us.
The new year started with my jottings in a new five year diary, something I'll dig out for the next series of blogs. I was about to tell my parents about what I'd been up to and what I planned to do.
Little did I know that they had already been talking about it...
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