When my parents split towards the end of 1969 my mother took me from Cumbernauld to Aberdeen. After 20 mostly miserable years in the Granite City I decided to leave and headed for Edinburgh - the place I love - via three months with my father in Paisley.
It was my father who drove me south that Sunday evening. We were never particularly close but we grew closer in the early months of 1990 and he was hugely supportive of me. I had temporarily left my wife and two young children (Laura was three and a half years old and Michaela just three months), given up my job - without another one to go to - and sold my house. People - mostly narrow-minded Aberdonians - told me I was mad and didn't know what I was doing. Oh, I did all right - and my father was one of the very few who gave me the encouragement to follow my dreams.
Much has changed since 7th January 1990. My father is no longer with us, having died very suddenly in 1997. I got divorced. And married again. Laura and Michaela are now in their 30s with children of their own.
I tell my grandchildren, especially the older two, to follow their dreams. Never let anyone tell you 'you can't do that' or 'you'll never make anything of yourself'. Moving to Edinburgh was the best thing I ever did. If I had listened to family and friends I would never have moved. But, boy, am I glad I did.
Even if three decades have taken their toll on my boyish good looks...
The Ranter in the 1980s The Ranter today...
