The Pilot and The Fashion Designer

When I was fourteen, there was no doubt in my mind where I would be when I hit my thirties. My best friend and I were going to be living in Camden Town together in a funky pad above a bar. She was hell bent on becoming an airplane Pilot, and I was all set to attend London College of Fashion and make my mark on the fashion world. These weren't dreams to us, this was just "how it was going to be". I snubbed Daddy's ideas that I would follow him in any way into the world of Television. Why would I want to work in a soul destroying business like TV when I could work in the soul destroying world of Fashion?

Gems and I even had our cars picked out (not once worrying about permit/off street parking or indeed the cost of having said cars custom built). We were the elite. We were alway told that we were "in the top 1 % " of the country intelligence wise, that's how we met. We attended the same depraved achievement based all girl's high school...and we believed our own press there for a while.

When the reality hit, that actually we wanted to carve our own niche on the world instead of falling off the production line with a straight set of As and no life experience, we did it together...we smoked cigarettes and practiced looking cool doing it. We bought ridiculous "unwearable" outfits - quite literally turning up in identical clobber some days, looking so contrived, but genuinely having no idea that the other was also going to rock up wearing the leopard print that day. We'd drink in bars together with our newly aquired sense of cool and the latest shade of really, really expensive lipstick. I couldn't imagine breathing without that girl. We'd talk about how apathetic "adults" were and how we didn't understand how they could all be so miserable when they were adults - come on man, you can do anything when you are an adult!!

We listened to Prince together and clung to his every word; even though she was a "top of the pops" girl and I was into strange underground goth stuff and ancient rock; we could alway agree on Prince.

She was my everything, more important than my first, second and third boyfriends. But then I met a guy who was so special I couldn't spend all my time with Gems because, as it turned out, I loved him more than I loved her. She was no longer my best friend, he was. The reality of that hurt me more than it hurt her.

The next couple of years are some of the brightest of my memories. There were gigs and parties, dancing and drinking, laughing and smoking. On my first Anti Nazi League march, my head was turned by all of the exciting, crazy,intelligent people; the human rights campaigners; the marxists; the dreadlocked patchouli crew; the bands; the crowds - they were all so exciting and anything was possible.

Gems and I did almost nothing together, but we still had Prince. We paid top dollar for tickets to see him a few times and we would get together and see him and I would paint his name all over my body and she would turn up looking exquisite and swearing blind that "he" [Prince] was watching her during the whole of the encore.

Where is she now? I have no idea. A mutual friend saw her at an E-Commerce roadshow or another, so I guess she never took to flying; it's funny, I always thought she would. She looked beautiful apparently. I have no doubt about that, she was one of the most amazing creatures to look at even at sixteen. Gems gave the mutual friend a business card to pass on, but it was lost before it reached me.

But the boy? The special one? We're not teenagers anymore, we're not in love and we see each other rarely...but he is one of my best friends in the whole world, godfather to my children and he stuck with his dream. He was going to be a drummer. And he is.

Advice for the Travelling Family

We (our family) are just about to embark on the longest journey we've ever done since the five of us became six. There are some things about this trip that I dread and some things that I look forward to (one being touch down the other end). A twenty one (anywhere between twenty two and twenty eight if you include stop over time) hour flight with a petulant seven year old, argumentative six year old and crazy little three year old, not to mention Baby J and all his paraphernalia; would have been the type of thing that, in days gone by, I would have avoided like the plague ( or at least have enlisted help for), but these days I just get on with it .

I have some advice I'd like to share, because it helps me to know it:

• Mum and Dad abroad (even in five star accommodation): Never eat the same dish in a restaurant. If the worst happens and the fish/lobster/chicken (delete as applicable) happens to poison everyone who eats it, then ONE of you has to be OK to look after the children. It's a horrible feeling to not be able to look after your own babies at any time, but it's even worse when there are two of you in a strange place, debilitated...particularly with a toddler jumping on your head saying "are we going to the beach today mummy?".
  

• Check your escape routes...it sound simple but when you check into a hotel, you need to know how the hell you will get your family out in the event of an emergency...unfamiliar surroundings will leave you feeling helpless in charge if you don't. Make a plan and inform older children of what you would expect them to do in a fire/flood/storm and where the fire exit are etc.

• Don't let your children use public toilets alone. This is something I disallow my own boys, even in our home country; the risk to your children of meeting someone undesirable is not necessarily increased by being abroad, but not being fluent in the native language would make things hard for your child to raise the alarm if they did.

• On a more cheerful note, liase with your flight provider before your flight - find out how much help you can expect once onboard your plane. Most are more than happy to accommodate families and have children's channels and entertainment packs etc. Check that you can get a Sky Cot for babies too.

• DO NOT APOLOGISE FOR YOUR CHILDREN. Most children are remarkably chilled out on a plane journey - there's a sense of sleepiness and calm about flying; but they inevitably get bored. If your little one wants to check out the toilet whilst the seatbelt signs are off, let them; if they want a drink every half an hour, get them one. If the guy behind you tutts and groans everytime your offspring utters a word that's not in a whisper, don't even bother to tell him to fuck off. Tell yourself that "there's always one" and that he probably shoots blanks which is why he has no concept of the job you are trying to do. Also remind yourself ( and if it becomes an issue, Mr/Mrs Blank Firer too) that you child has as much right to his seat on the plane as he does. Please. Don't make your child feel bad about being a child.