"Look at all these soldiers Ben! I have never seen so many ... Ben, come here and look!"
"Wow Dad - so many. Look at all the Germans and the British. Wow! How many can I have?"
"How much money do you have?"
"One, two, three... six pounds. I have six pounds!"
"Well that means you can have six figures. Which ones would you like?"
"The Germans. Yes, the Germans!"
"Just Germans. No others. What about some of the nurses? They could go on your battlefield for the soldiers."
"No Dad! No way! Nurses are for girls. I don't want nurses."
I was eight at the time of that outing. It's those memories from your childhood and past. They can be anything from your first girlfriend ringing and your Dad answers the phone, telling the girl that you have just put your Postman Pat pyjamas - but you don't own any Postman Pat pyjamas.
Or the time he crawled in on all fours after the Christmas party barking like a dog.
Or the time he made me climb a roof up a 30ft ladder, because it was too high for him, when I was 16.
Or the first time my mother left my father to look after us. And I stood on six nails and had to be rushed to the hospital. Poor Dad.
Next it's the advice: Don't stay out too late; It's important to study; You have just passed your driving test, right, no racing - don't drive too fast; No drinking and driving.
Eight hours, 32 minutes later, me and two friends are sat in a ditch wondering what the hell to do.
Is it that the advice that is given falls on deaf ears? Don't get a credit card, save that student loan. Jesus, I wish I had.
It seems universal for a son to go against the advice of his father, but there is a reason for this: Growing up, finding your own way. Then you find out your Dad was right all along.
Occasionally, over the last 17 years, my father's words have come back to me. So this Christmas, I gave my dad a present: A set of Britain's nurses. He didn't have a clue what they were about. I was gutted."
