Uncle Mike was only thirteen years older than me, and for much of my childhood, he was more like an older brother than an uncle. I played with all his toys: his enormous toy car collection (including broken ones which he told me were to be included in crash scenarios!), his magnetic driving test game, and his magic robot that answered questions. He took me out to an old quarry to catch frogs for the garden pond, he taught me how to care for old coins (do NOT clean them with ketchup, despite what they said on Blue Peter!), and when he passed his driving test he took me up to an old clay works, sat me on his lap, and 'taught' me how to drive. I was only four at the time and my feet were nowhere near the pedals, but I was convinced I was doing all the work! 

During my teenage years he was such a cool uncle to have, with his handsome looks, his antique furniture, and his Triumph TR7. He'd already taken me to see my first 'grown-up' film (The Day of the Jackal), but later he was the first person to take me to pubs for a drink (those were the days before ID). And - the evidence is there in my teenage diaries - it was to him I turned for advice about boys.

When I was about four I thought I would probably marry Uncle Mike. And although - for so many obvious reasons - that was not to be, he has always held, and will always hold, a very special place in my heart.