When I was about 18 months old, my dad took me on my first aeroplane journey.
It was 1952, and my dad had survived the war, been awarded a bunch of medals including the DCM, was sent to London to represent Australia in the Victory March, came home, and sometime in 1949, he helped to create me.
Somewhere in 1952, a decision was made that I would be better off in Melbourne with my aunty and uncle. They were unable to have children at a time when nothing could be done to solve the problem. So, my dad bundled me up and put me on a plane and brought me to this house. He stayed a few days and then went home [that must have been a difficult journey]. I stayed and lived in this excellent little house in this little suburb of Melbourne until I was 22 years old.
The story that goes with all of this is a good one, and one day I will tell it to you.