One year we bought Dad the Hinge & Bracket LP recording for Christmas fully expecting to be terrorised by the dodgy duo's dreadfull caterwalling for the duration of the festive break.  Luckily fate and a tabby cat named Dillion intervened.  Dillon broke into his gift wrapped box of crunchie crispies during Christmas Eve night, overindulged and was sick all over the offending Hinge & Bracket LP, which put us all off handling it until it had dried out and saved our ear drums from torture.  You laughed at this for most of the holidays and seemed to be quite happy about the mishap that befell this most ill chosen of gifts!

Being Mum to five children was not without its amusing moments.  Mum and Dad took us on regular coach trips to the sea side during the summer holidays and it was on a trip to the Cinque Ports of Kent that we were to encounter alien life forms.  Dad was a keen Gardner, he had to be with us lot to feed, and would often collect horse manure from the common for the compost heap.  Unfortunately, he also watched TV gardening programmes and one idea he got from this was that seaweed was excellent stuff for the garden.  At Hearne Bay seaweed was in plentiful supply and, being an avid beach comber, I helped Dad to fill a carrier bag to brimming with the slimy stuff, which was duly loaded onto the coach for our return journey.  Things started to get a bit strange en route to Canterbury.  Shufflings and mutterings could be heard along the length and breadth of the coach.  I glanced down and was horrified to see a column of plump and colourful sandhoppers advancing down the gangway in a most determined fashion.  Mild mannered elderly ladies were starting to panic, feet were being tucked onto seats, Mum was barely suppressing the urge to laugh.  At Canterbury we dumped the precious bag of seaweed in a public bin but for the remainder of the journey the odd sand hopper could be glanced peeking out from beneath a seat.  Mum gave Dad a good telling off when we got home and we all went to bed laughing, to dream of sand hoppers! 

Back in the 1970s, Mum tried to dye her lovely white hair a shade that was supposed to be Chestnut Brown. Except that, when she emerged from the process, it was bright orange! She wore a headscarf and kept a low profile for a week before plucking up the courage to visit the hairdresser. All they could say was, "What have you done to yourself?!"

Mum stuck to Nature's Own colour after that!

Mum and Dad came home one day to find our stairway embelished with a Rouges Gallery.  My brother, Steve, an uncannily accurate cartoonist, had immortalised each and every one of us, country house portrait style, complete with drawn-on gilt frames.  I was the "Laughing Cavallier", on account of a failed attempt at crimping my hair with pipe cleaners, which resulted in a triangular mass of frizz.  Mum was still laughing at the memory of this just one week before she passed on.  She had a wicked sense of humour.  What a lady!