MOMI

Part one of my look at the lighter side of a hideous war. Also a demonstration that we British can't do American accents as well as we think we can

In 2015, a Hawker Hunter came down at a busy junction near Shoreham. I was asked to share the famous red sofa with the lovely Naga Munchetty and, I'm told, another bloke.

My son turned on breakfast telly and was surprised to see his Dad pretending to know what he was talking about. He grabbed his phone and this was the result.

Somewhere around the end of the noughties I developed an addiction to World of Warcraft. This was at the instigation of my son, Adam, who somewhat hypocritically created this piss-take with his cousin Sophie for my sixtieth birthday.

They would wish me to state that their appearances have been heavily modified for this production. But I'm not going to, so there.

Another of the roasting I received on my sixtieth. Jem Hates Germs failed to topple Dr Suess from the children's best-sellers, but it made me laugh until it hurt. Eva in gloriously acid mode taking the piss out of my many failings.

Warning: she does get kind of sweary.

Happy times, partly alcohol-fuelled, in Wales in 2010. Filmed by my niece, Sophie, and featuring Adam, trying to look cool while playing an autoharp (a challenge, even for him), Mart strumming a completely different tune, Kaz slapping her knees in some arcane and unrelated rhythm, and Sophie herself humming an approximate harmony. And my much-missed mother-in-law Rose, loving every minute of the disharmonic shambles.