I was 18, and studying art for A-level (= hippy). It was 1970. I was invited to meet Ian's sister and widowed mother for Sunday tea. So I dutifully put on the dress with the demure white collar and stayed respectable all afternoon. Two days later she came home from work to find me yet again at her house. This time I was on my knees on the garage floor, in my usual ripped jeans and up to my wrists in oil, fishing broken bits of cam-gear out of his bike's sump. She got used to me before she sadly died in 1978, but I'm still the oddball in the family to some extent!

Ian proposed after 4 months of dating, and as I was still at school I was terrified of telling my parents. But after a week, it was all getting too much, so Ian took my dad to the pub and formally asked for my hand. My dad apparently said that as long as he could keep me in the manner to which I was not accustomed, he was welcome! (My mum just even now keeps asking what happened to the young lad who so politely told her, "Thank you for my nice tea").

Now we are in the position of being the parents. Scary! I have one in a long term relationship, and another that has a harem! Luckily the 14 year old is "off" blokes at the moment.

Andrea