When Liz's brother Fred and I were about 18, we were attacked one night in Chichester by a gang of skinheads. I got off lightly--just smashed glasses requiring a dressing over my eye--but Fred spent the night in hospital.  When I phoned the news to Fred's home, Liz and her hubby Mo drove to Chichester to collect me AND go looking for the thugs.  Mo had had a rather large quantity of beer and sat in the front gripping a starting handle, I sat in the back with one covered up, and Liz drove.  And her blood was up--someone had hurt her little brother and she really, really, REALLY wanted revenge. BUT she was about eight months pregnant with Jon.  If we had found the skinheads, I know Liz would have struggled out from behind the wheel and joined in, so I was actually secretly glad we didn't catch up with them.  But that was Liz--scared of nobody. I will miss her.

So long Liz, God Bless. Alan