It was September 1988 and I had been seeing Papa Syder (on the right) for five months, living with him for three. That year Mum took Me, Papa and my five younger Brothers over to France to stay at Center Parcs for two whole weeks. I can't even begin to express how excited we were as we all piled into the back of the Family mini bus. I headed straight for the back seat, my headphones hooked over my head, personal stereo on full wack, I rested my head against the window as Def Leopard rocked my world.
We arrived at Dover two hours later, boarded the ferry and couldn't wait to explore the boat. The boys headed straight for the restaurant and I felt a little uneasy as I watched them devour a full English, followed by cheap chocolate from the duty free. I had a funny feeling they might regret pigging out. And they did. As the boat rocked and swayed, so did their breakfast inside their tummies. All they could do to ease the sickness was sit out on deck in silence. My Brother (on the left) really didn't look too good at all. Not sure they appreciated me pointing a camera in their faces at that precise moment, but hey, I knew it would be funny to look back on one day.