Dad told me recently that he was horrified at himself for taking us to Italy when I was just four years old. We went to Dover by coach, flew from Lydd to a Belgian airfield then coached it down through the amazing Dolomites to a small place called Lido Di Jesolo. It was brilliant and I do remember it quite well. My brother and I posed on the steps of st Mark's cathedral in Venice and the photo is still at home somewhere. He point blank refused to pose some years later though, no idea why. Dad couldn't believe he'd taken that risk, but I said to him before he died, that that trip had set me off on travels which have taken me, literally, all over the world. After all what is life if you don't take a risk, and I've never regretted that trip, and, in essence, neither has Dad.