TRYING to follow in the footsteps of perfection is never a good idea. For me, I had no choice, or any chance for that matter.

Andrew, five and a half years older than me and always considerably more mature, was the middle child of three. Elizabeth was a bit fiery but, as the first child, could get away with anything. Andrew came next, a model son for any parent. Quiet, mannerly, well behaved and very intelligent. Then me, well this article isn’t about me so we’ll just leave it at that.