Friday the 13th

Nineteen years ago, today, my third daughter, Izzy, was born on Friday the 13th of January.

Whenever I think of her childhood, there are a number of memories that spring immediately to mind:

- The summer when she was waking up at 5 in the morning and me lying on the sofa trying to stay awake while she crawled around getting into everything, including the grate. (Me (feebly and without moving): "Don't do that, Iz.")

- Her standing up, unaided, in the middle of Barbon village hall on her first birthday.

- Walking into the Disney Store with her and her sisters, and Izzy running behind a large cutout of Buzz Lightyear and intoning "I come in peace".

- And my favourite: we were on holiday, me, my brother and the four girls. Izzy must have been about four, I guess, and she was sharing a room with my brother. Izzy was still an early riser and my brother wasn't, so one evening over tea he told her that the following morning she wasn't to climb into his bed and start talking to him because he wanted to sleep in. He was quite clear about it, perhaps even a little strict. Anyway, the next morning he was woken Izzy whispering loudly in his ear "Wozzy, what's you're favourite video? Mine's 'Prince Of Egypt." She always was and remains irrepressible.

Today I went to visit her in York, where she's at university. I haven't been into York for well over twenty years, since my brother was a student there in fact. Because Izzy had lectures during the day, I met an old bandmate of my brother's for lunch, someone I hadn't seen, I think, since 1992. It was really great; immediately comfortable and chatty.

After that I had a mooch around the city centre, walking up the Shambles and finding a great pub by the Minster where I met Izzy for a drink before we went for tapas. It was lovely to have some time with this beautiful, smart, funny girl, to talk to her while remembering the cute little force of nature she was as a toddler.