It is September 1989.
I am walking down the little lane past the high brick wall that surrounds my school. The leaves are starting to fall from the large sycamore tree that stands in the corner of the playing field and which leans over the end of Baker's Lane. I can hear some of the crisp, brown leaves crunching under my feet. I am wearing a duffle coat and my Mum's red snood to keep my ears warm. My favourite top is a white sweat shirt that has a hologram of a wolf on it. I secretly want to be Kylie Minogue.
This year I will be in Mrs Habbershaw's class and it's my last year at Infant School. Every Friday we will write little stories. We will learn about how days grow shorter and longer as the seasons change. If we are lucky we will get to have a little go on the computer that sits in the corner of the room. Computers are really expensive and we are lucky to have one.
One day, a kind old lady will be our guest in the classroom and we will take turns to work in small groups around her and we learn how to make simple embroidery stitches. This is the first time I have ever used a needle and thread and I am immediately fascinated by the feel of the fabric and the bright colours of the threads. The lady has marked out the letters of my name on the pink canvas and I am working over them in cross stitch with an orange thread. The stitches are fairly neat, even if they are not all being worked in the same direction.
Next I will work a small flower with white and green threads. I won't work all of the stitches in the sampler myself but it will be treasured for many years to come and will begin a lifetime's love of embroidery. I will soon forget the lady's name but I will never forget what she has taught me.