The weekend of 18th October 1991 is forever etched in my memory. I remember thinking that I had everything in the world that I could possibly need or want. A happy marriage and two beautiful little girls. My second daughter was just six weeks old, and my first, Isobel, only 20 months. My husband was turning 29 that following week. For some unknown reason (maybe a sixth sense), I had decided to celebrate his 29th birthday more formally instead of his 30th the following year. We had a fun birthday dinner with some close friends on the Saturday, and woke up feeling rather jaded on that Sunday morning.