When I was young, I never ever felt I was missing out by not going on foreign holidays, because my summer holidays were to my auntie Reenie, who lived in Eastleigh, near Southampton. And that felt pretty foreign and exciting to me.

As a kid growing up in East Kilbride, almost everything about my auntie's home and where she lived was a novelty. It had tree-lined streets, which was new to me and which I found enchanting. The whole place seemed grand and fairy-tale - I remember Eastleigh feeling like a posh wee village compared with modern East Kilbride.

Every year, we'd go to London, as a family, in a big bus. This was the late 1970s and the early 1980s, and the bus had a telly, which was exciting. Then we'd go on to Southampton, again by bus. Then, once we were there, we'd go on day trips by train. I had never been on a train before and it gave me a lifelong obsession with them. I travelled by Eurostar recently, only because I wanted to indulge in a bit of romance.

I still remember the joy, as a child, of being told we were off to some exotic location, such as Bournemouth, for the day. You had to pack stuff, it was going to be sunny, and you'd pass the Mr Kipling Cakes factory on your way to the railway station. What's not to love for a child? It had fun, cakes, trees, the seaside and trains.

I also remember buying a cowboy hat and it sparking my first real interest in fashion. Look at me in my cowboy hat, I'd think. I wouldn't have got away with that in East Kilbride. It was also the place where I bought my first cassette tape recorder, and the first tape I bought was the Eurythmics.

My aunt and uncle were a lovely, sweet older couple. Uncle Ron had a posh accent, so my twin brother, Russell, and I kept telling each other. We'd have such a laugh. It was all so marvellously different: they had their main meal at lunchtime, which they called dinner, whereas in East Kilbride our main meal was in the evening. I remember gammon featuring quite a lot. In the late afternoon, out would come the cake tray, and they would have “high tea”. I remember thinking my auntie was posh because she had cakes.

My uncle had his own chair, which he snoozed in after dinner. You'd never sit in uncle Ron's chair. Sundays always involved a roast. I don't think I could have had more fun on a foreign holiday. Their home was semi-detached, with an outdoor toilet, which was useful because, sometimes, my brother and I camped in the garden - especially if there was a houseful of family. Where the afternoon cakes were consumed was a grand room with a grandfather clock with a tick-tock that made the place feel calm.

Sun would be always streaming through their net curtains. I can't remember much about the other furniture. I suppose it would have been quite old and conservative. For me, it was about the sun, about it feeling grand and calm.

The kitchen was always busy because, like my mum, my auntie always had an apron on, no matter what she was wearing. They had a larder, which I had never encountered before, and I always felt that, if there was to be a nuclear war, we'd be fine at Aunt Reenie's. She had plenty of everything.

The kitchen was the factory of the house - that's where all the magic happened. Aunt Reenie was a genius at baking.

Of course, their back garden, which led from the kitchen, had even more trees. Ones that overhung. And at night, you'd hear these wee sounds, like a cat meowing.

The front door had a porch, with its side brick walls going half-way up. It was a brick house, with a bay window at the front. I had never seen a bay window before.

Another new thing was the bedroom window being left open at night. Fresh air would come in and you'd hear birdsong. It was like living in Radio 4. I loved it.

In time it all came to an end. Reenie and Ron started to get much older and neither are with us any more. There was also the draw of Butlins.

I want to go back. I want to go back with Russell. I know it might feel different to how I remember it, but I am willing to take that risk. I don't think I would ruin the dream - I think it would be just as I remembered it. It would be lovely to briefly cheat time, to get to return to your childhood.

My instincts tell me it would be good to return, especially with my twin brother, who, because he shares all those memories with me, would indulge me saying, “Do you remember this and do you remember that?”

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