I spent most of my childhood in the heart of the Black Country in the bleak, sometimes buzzy, metropolis of Wolverhampton. Some people have a right old laugh about my dirty old hometown but I have fond memories; like bike rides in the green country lanes nearby, building dens along the disused railway line behind our house or looking for Enid Blyton’s Magic Faraway Tree in the woods at the top of the road.This photograph is of me in the early 1970s when, from my perspective, life felt swishy and exciting. My grandpa Solly owned the local casino and various other clubs - doors seemed to open when anyone mentioned his name. Some days I’d go to the casino and play hide and seek - with myself - under the roulette and blackjack tables. As my nan bottled up in the bar, I tuned into the grown-ups talking about the punters, pop stars and football players that frequented the place at night.Most evenings I loved watching my mum and auntie transform from housewives to croupiers. Up in mum’s bedroom, they’d be hooting with laughter as they smoked and sang along to Cher. They knew all the words to the songs - it was the early days of Women’s Lib and they had to vent somehow. Hair was waved and make-up was carefully applied, before they shimmied into their Biba and Ossie Clark numbers. I was all ears as they gossiped and moaned about ‘the men’. The smell of nail polish and French perfume lingered long after they sashayed off to the casino. I got a whiff of what life was about: being a grown up was complicated and men were rubbish. For a kid, it was all downright confusing…In the photograph I’m dressed up to be the bridesmaid at the wedding for my Auntie Leslie (she of the Biba dresses) and Uncle Alun. To my mind she was the most ravishing, glamorous woman in the world - she’d even dated one of the members of Slade (not the one with the pudding bowl haircut, let me add. She had a thing with the intelligent one who wrote all the lyrics - ‘Cuz I Luv You’ and ‘Cum on Feel the Noize’). And my Uncle Alun, who was a footballer for Liverpool, was a prince with a moptop. Actually, he was a local star, he’d been signed by legendary football manager Bill Shankley and was the most expensive teenage player in the first division. How chuffed was I to be the bridesmaid at their wedding? It was my moment to step into a princess dress, shine and shimmy like my mum, Aunty Leslie and my nan, Dolly.That particular day I was in awe of the adults again. You can espy a few of them behind me; just look at the sculptured hair and fabulous flares - if I had a time machine, I’d go right back there and check out the colours and listen to the conversations. I do remember spending much of the day lodged behind my mum, with her billowing, brown maxi skirt acting as a shield. The rest of the time, I was shooting off to escape the group photos. Sadly, there isn’t a single shot of me with Aunty Les and Uncle Alun, so fifty-odd years later I have only memories to go by. A lot has happened since that day; we’ve lost nan and mum, Aunty Les is on her fourth husband and Uncle Alun lives in Australia. You never know how life will go but I do know you have to capture the moments while you can - even if that means having your dreaded photograph taken.There is something else that sticks with me from that day. On one of my mad dashes to dodge the photos, I went headlong down a soggy bank of grass. The pretty, white dress was ruined, those dainty, velvet shoes were muddied beyond repair, and the little flower basket was crushed. As the guests made the toast to the bride and groom, and wished them ‘mud in your eye’, I was in tears and covered from head to toe in dark brown gunge. It was an embarrassing end to a glorious occasion; a reminder that you never know what a day will bring either. But lessons were learned and I’m pleased to report that I’ve never tripped over in a pretty party dress again - well, hardly ever…