Did I mention that my mother and father live there with me as well. I must have been three or four. It's hard to remember anymore for certain, but that has to be close. My mother is the oldest of the children... nearly 20 years from my youngest uncle. So that places he and I only 3 years apart... like brothers in a long line of Catholic children in this family.

I remember most of all the stairs. It is my earliest memory. Sliding down those stairs on my butt, racing my youngest uncle (who is only 3 years older than me) to see who could reach the base of the stairs on a bumpy tumbling arse aching ride against gravity first. It usually was an even race, considering that he and I were of similar size, even though he was older than I. At least, it was even until he took to riding the banisters in an indiscreet use of unsportsmanlike behaviour... how uncouth, don't you think.

I remember the multiple scoldings my grandmother would give us for these races... "You'll break yer neck!", "That sounds like and earthquake rolling through the whole house!"... admonishing us to stop what we were doing and find something else to do. Yet, I could swear that I had seen her smile as she turned from us to return to her hectic daily monotony. And yes... we certainly continued doing it... cause basically... its fun!