She LOVED to dance. I remember one end of year party, there was a dancing competition. We must have been about 10 or 11 years old. We all had to dance in the middle and the teachers came round and tapped people on the shoulder. That meant you were out. I was rubbish and was out pretty quickly. It ended up with Sarah and one other girl – a dance off! I remember her dancing her heart out – everyone was amazed at how good she was, but I’d spent hours watching her learn dance routines from Top of the Pops, so I knew she was going to win – and she did. She was SO HAPPY, I can still see her jumping up and down in excitement when she realised she had won.

Dancing was always a big thing for her – as was music. She got her love of music from your grandad. He loved American Soul, Tamla Motown and Bluebeat – there was always music playing in their house. They had their own special song, that he used to sing to her when she was little; ‘Jamaica Farewell’ by Sam Cooke. They had their Daddy Daughter dance to it at her wedding.

She always had music playing. She would be the first to play a new song and she had an awesome vinyl collection. I’m pretty sure that all of her pocket money went on buying records. She loved all types of music, but if she could dance to it, she loved it.

Our first girls holiday was in 1988. We were only 17 but somehow we managed to book ourselves a Club 18-30 to Ibiza. Our parents must have been tearing their hair out at the thought of the 4 of us being let loose together. It was a time before mobile phones and WhatsApp so once we went through the departure gate at the airport, we were on our own.

We had a really crummy hotel room, but we didn’t care. It was hot, drinks were cheap and more importantly there were boys there! Every day we were either out on a trip or lazing by the pool. Every night we would hop from bar to bar and club to club. We’d fall in the door as the sun came up, have a quick sleep and head back out to the pool or the beach.

She loved that holiday. She would talk to anyone and made friends with everyone. By the end of the first week, we were part of a huge group of boys and girls, mainly all down to Emily. She would be the first one up to do karaoke or line dancing or playing pool games. She was literally the life and soul of the party.

One day we went ‘champagne diving’. We went out on an amazing boat and the reps would throw bottles of fizz over the side, into the clear water. We would have to dive down to retrieve them. Emily stayed on the boat and every time someone swam up with a bottle she’d say ‘let me hold on to that for you. You go get more’. Then she’d hide their bottle in our stash!

Tom and I shared a passion for Paul Weller, the man and his music. I remember we went to see Weller at the Royal Albert Hall. We had seats in the choir, which means we were slightly behind the man himself, but looking out into the main part of the Hall. It was an acoustic set, and it was MAGICAL.

Tom often worked evenings, in music venues around London, in one capacity or another. Shortly before the RAH gig, Weller had played at Fairfield Halls in Croydon. One of the guitar tecs had left something behind (I can’t recall what it was now), and Tom had got in touch with him and said he would bring it with him to the RAH gig. An hour or so before the gig started, he disappeared backstage. He came back GLOWING, having met the man himself and shared a beer with him. I was always too shy to meet Weller, but I got to bask in the reflected glow. I remember Tom taking my hand and saying “you’re touching the hand, that touched Paul Weller’s hand”.

At his funeral, we played “You Do Something To Me” when his coffin was bought it. It was one of our favourite Weller songs and to this day it reminds me of Tom.

I grew up with Dermot on a council estate in Shepherds Bush. We lived 3 doors apart and we went to the same school, St Peters.

Dermot would knock on my door each morning and we would walk to school together. It was only a 10 minute walk, but we could hang it out for at least half an hour. What we talked about during those walks changed over the years, as we got older - football, music and eventually, of course, girls. The walk home usually involved a stop off at the sweet shop or the chip shop (he couldn’t say no to a Sherbet Dib Dab or a Saveloy!).

We share the same surname and if we were out and about on a Saturday night he’d often tell girls that we were brothers. He’d be chatting to some girls at a bar, and suddenly I’d see them all turn round and look at me, and then look back at him. He’d be stood there grinning from ear and ear, chucking me a cheeky wink and I’d know what he’d just told them. It was ridiculous cos I’m 6’4” and 16 stone, and Dermot was 5’ 7” and was barely 10 stone wringing wet! He was so charming, he’d always get away with it.

I worked with Mike at the bakers. We delivered bread from the factory in Canning Town to shops all over east London.

He took me under his wing when I started and showed me the ropes. It wasn’t exactly rocket science, but he was a good teacher and he made me feel welcome and part of the team. We became great mates.

I remember clear as day one particular Monday morning. He came into work and his grin was wider than usual. He told me about his ‘blindin’ weekend’ and how he’d met a girl. On the Friday night he’d spotted her at the bar and decided to be brave and go and buy her a drink. They hit it off straight away and agreed to meet for a coffee on the Sunday. Coffee went really well and turned into an all-day walk round the park. He was literally walking on air that Monday morning. He didn’t stop talking about her all day, or the next – he was totally smitten. The girl was Carol, your mum!

A few months passed and one Friday afternoon, while we were out delivering he confided that he was going to propose to Carol. He was so nervous! He was always so confident, but I’d never seen him as jittery as he was that day. He’d bought a ring and was going to propose that night, after dinner in a romantic restaurant.

Being a bit old-fashioned, he’d asked your grandad’s permission beforehand. He told me how he’d stopped by the house on a day he knew Carol would be out. He said he was shaking in his boots when he asked Brian if he could have Carol’s hand in marriage. Apparently Brian made him really squirm, didn’t say a word. He let him sweat for a bit before shaking Mike’s hand and giving him his blessing.

Monday morning rolled round and his grin was even wider than before – Carol had said yes and the rest is history as they say.