My love affair with the Isle of Wight began in 1977.
My mum and dad took me on holiday to the island, staying in a hotel near the cliff walk in Shanklin.
As it turned out, that was our last ever family holiday. My dad died very suddenly, three months later. I was one month away from my 7th birthday.
A few months later, I joined a "Friday Club" at a local church. It was 'the 'place to go on Friday evenings for kids my age.
Each August, they'd take a group of 'Friday Clubbers' to the Isle of Wight for a week's adventure holiday. One year, I went with them. I was probably 9 or 10.
By some 'happy accident' (!!), the hostel we stayed in was only a few metres along the cliff path from the hotel I stayed with my mum and dad.
In-between the hotel and the hostel is a green area with benches. That area was where I most felt the spirit of my dad.
In adulthood, I would holiday on the island each year, and top of my 'must do' list was to visit that green area to 'see' my dad.
I'd spend half the year looking forward to being on the island for a week, and the other half of the year aching to be back there after our annual trip.
It was my dream to live on the island.
I couldn't see how it would be possible though. It's not somewhere you move to if you rely on a good salary, and both me and my husband did.