Here we are, Mum, Peter and I at Christmas. I don’t remember this in the slightest, nor our family being musical. Peter’s got his Arsenal scarf, I’m in jazz black and still with chicken pox scars. I probably thought I was in The Police, my favourite band at the time.

Here we are, Martin and I in Combe Martin north Devon on one of many family camping trips. This is a beautiful stretch of coast, from Ilfracombe along the north of Exmoor. This camp site had an amazing view but back then we were more interested in the rope swing in the woods, even fighting with other camping kids over it. Luckily big Philip Coward was with us to sort it out. I’m rocking the skinny 80s jeans and a Fred Perry, Martin’s rocking the biggest smile.

Here we are, Martin, Peter and I half-buried on a holiday beach. Gran and Grandpa Hunt, seated behind, may have had something to do with this! We had many good holidays, camping in our big orange tent, with grandparents staying nearby.

Here we are, Dad & I in the garden of Boundary House, Broughton Gifford. I’m three and a half. Dad must be just back from work, still in his brown suit and shiny shoes. Check out my red and blue combo with matching wellies! The dry stone walls were all rebuilt around this time and the large slabs were laid as a path through the vegetable garden. Back then our garden ended at the fence behind this wall, with cows or horses coming close to drink at the trough. Later we bought a diagonal slice of the field, extending the garden to the end of the hedge. In the background is the old pigsty and farm buildings we called The Camp. It was incredible! We fixed up the wooden shack and had great fun climbing the walls.

Here I am, age 2. I got my ball. I got my ice cream. I got a tasty white beard.

Here we are – Mum, Dad, Peter and Martin. I think this is the first picture I ever took, borrowing my Dad’s camera when I was about 6. We were on holiday in Devon, Martin aged 2 (would you say?) and Peter must be around 8.