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In the summer of 1987, I went on holiday with my parents for the first time in seven years. I had grown up, and was laid back. We were all also slim and healthy. We went to Jersey where we hired a Cavalier convertible, and drove round the island listening to Whitney Houston. We had quite a time. And later that year we went to what was still Yugoslavia for a week's holiday.

I mention this because Mum and Dad liked the country and the people. Dad also liked packs of coffin nails for 20p and a beer for 10p. Twenty quid would last the best part of a week.

Mum also liked to sunbathe, so the next year they started a habit of going to the coast in Yugoslavia for two weeks, although Dad hated the heat, Mum loved it, so he accepted it. The first day on the beach they made friends with a Yugoslavian family from Novi Sad, and their daughter spoke a little English. A friendship was forged.

A year later, the daughter, Andrea, came over to visit and stay at the family home, where she was stunned by the life we had here, doing things that we just took for granted. And still do.

We met that first time, although we really didn't speak much, she was my Mum's friend, although she was my age. Anyway, after two weeks she went back home and that was that.

Fast forward two years, and in Yugoslavia General Tito had died, and the country was beginning to rip itself apart. Nationalists stoked half forgotten grievances, people marched, others were cleared out of houses and farms their families had owned for generations. War was coming.

Andrea failed her English exams; her dream was to be a tour guide, and so needed perfect language results. Could she come over to England to study at the local college? Mum thought this marvellous, and agreed before asking Dad, and without telling me.

I had to make a report that a foreign national was living at home, where she came from and all the rest. And in theory, the RAF could have banned me from going home. Maybe it would have been better if they had done. But the day after she arrived, I waited to find out if the RAF special Police, PNSS, would allow me to go home. Or not.

They did.

So all was fine.

I went home as usual, and was thin, tanned and getting more confident. I arrived home wearing a vest, a pair of shots and a pair of Army boots on. I was the very picture of Adonis. I made a big thing of kissing her on both cheeks, and Mum asked if I would take Andrea out that and almost every night over the next few weeks.

At the end of October 1991, I was about to go on a week's gate guard, and I left home for what was going to be two weeks. There was an odd atmosphere. Turns out that out of James, my friend Douglas and I, Andrea had decided I was Buttons and Prince Charming all rolled into one, and she was smitten. I will never know the truth, maybe I was just the better prospect? Who knows. But each night I called home and we talked, it all seemed so sweet.

At the end of my two weeks way, I drove back and started what was my first proper grown up love affair.

We consummated our new love a couple of weeks later, my parents must have known. But Mum encouraged us to go away on a cheap weekend to Buckingham at some posh hotel for dancing and dinners. We did not see outside our room after dark. It was all so grown up and bloody great. I spent the days watching the Rugby World cup or going through the second hand bookshops in Buckingham, at night we were naughty.

We lead a blissful, if skint life, as living the life of a single airman during the week, going to the NAAFI or Marham Bowl for a night of beers and crisps most nights, then two nights disco dancing were things my meagre Airman's pay could not afford. So a pattern developed, two weeks living like Kings and Queens, and two weeks with little or no money.

Andrea grew frustrated at the two weeks of sitting in my room watching TV or listening to music or anything else that came to mind. Ahem. But then events were to overtake us.

Her visa was coming to an end, so the decision had to be made as to what to do. Should she just go home, or should we do something about our position and get married? In truth, it was all so easy, the RAF would supply us with a furnished house if we wanted, a place on base, near to work. We could have our life, in our house, just the two of us. It would be perfect.

In west Norfolk.

Without a car, as my Father demanded I return the family car, now a Cortina, as I would have to look after ourselves. Neither of them could drive, and after returning the car, it sat on their drive and rusted, whilst Andra and I, newly married would have to reply on the dreadful bus service into Kings Lynn or the once a week bus into Norwich.

Turned out my wages didn't stretch that far once married either. We shopped at Weigh and Save, and we learned to cook simple and cheap meals. Sometimes we would borrow a friend's car so we could do a monthly shop at Tesco. And bit by bit we accumulated our own furniture.

Our wedding had been a harrowing experience, as Andrea and my Mum had gone from being the best of friends to the worst of enemies. They were hardly speaking, and when I came back at weekends they used to tell me tales of each other. I had to believe Andrea, which made the relationship with my parents worse. We ended up saving up and paying for all aspects of our wedding ourselves, so being able to invite who we wanted to the ceremony itself and the meal and evening reception.

Mum just sat and glared, did not speak to anyone, not even Andrea's parents who had come over from Novi Sad; they had also been treated badly by my parents. Andrea and I left our reception early, apologising to our friends, so we went back to the Bridal Suite at the Wherry Hotel on Oulton Broad where we were naughty some more. As you do, it is the law on your wedding night.

We were woken the next morning by the demolition of the old swing bridge, drills going off at six in the morning. We had breakfast on the balcony overlooking the broad, then we packed up, went home to get our bags and drive to Corton dunes to stay a week in a caravan. It was horrible, very cold.

At the end of the week, we loaded up a van with all my stuff and we drive to Marham to move into our quarter.

Our life was full of arguments; we blamed a lack of money, the behaviour of my parents, not having a car, anything other than what became clear in the following years, we just did not get on.

But for a year, we lived our life in the quarter, I went to work, we survived on my pay as being a foreign national, she could not work yet, not until she had been in the country for five years. But we had time, we thought. But I had put a process in motion that was to have profound implications on our marriage and our lives. I applied for a posting to Germany. At the time there were three bases left in Germany, and out there I would get more money, we might be able to afford a car. a new car. New furniture. Travel.All the things we felt our life lacked and made us sad. And argue.

I was posted on July 8th 1993. Andrea would have to stay behind until I got a married quarter.