There are times when surrendering to nostalgia is a good thing and this is surely one of them, writes Jennifer O'Connell.
It was the 'tra la la la la la' from the radio that got me. I heard it in the car, and I was immediately transported back to the sitting room of my parents' first house. I was eight years old, my middle brother was five.
I could see us on the sage green carpet, examining the Penney's catalogue with the forensic attention of a racing aficionado poring over the odds in a bookie's shop.
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