I have tried to put together some happy memories of Sarah because, while today we are all inevitably overwhelmed with sadness that we will not see her again, we must also be thankful that we were fortunate enough to know her in the first place. Sarah was always the focal point of our family and the instigator of most of our gatherings. From putting together Sunday lunches when she would cook her legendary roast potatoes (crunchy on the outside yet somehow fluffy on the inside) to organising holidays when she would manage to get us all together in the same place and, even more impressively, still talking to each other. I know my Mum really appreciated the efforts Sarah went to when organising one of her landmark birthdays (the number of which I won’t mention for modesty’s sake). It involved a trip for all of us to Center Parcs and a night of secret balloon-blowing and decorating once Mum was safely tucked up in bed, ready for a surprise birthday breakfast the next morning. As a mother Sarah took such joy in bringing up Archie and Charlotte, otherwise known as Arch the Barch and Char-lotty. She would spoil them rotten all throughout the year but Christmas-time was when she really excelled. Every little detail was considered to try and give the children (of all ages) a perfect day. Sarah was desperate to be able to spend one last Christmas at home with Archie and Charlotte and the rest of us all around her and it is some small comfort that she managed to achieve this. Sarah’s absolute deepest regret about her illness was that she would not be able to see Archie and Charlotte grow up, to go through all the trials and tribulations of adolescence, to become fine adults and to one day perhaps start families of their own. Her deepest concern was that they be well loved in her absence and that they lead as happy and as joy-filled lives as possible and I know that everyone here today can empathise with that and will do their utmost to ensure that that is indeed the case. Of course it is chiefly as a sister that I recall Sarah. She was very fond of reminding me about the time when she literally saved my life while I was paddling in the sea at Lossiemouth in Scotland as a rather unsteady 1-year old. Apparently the tide turned and I started drifting out into the icy depths of the North Sea. Sarah raced in to the water and yanked me out just in the nick of time, no doubt ruining her clothes in the process so it must have been a tough call and I’m grateful it went my way. Of course I am relying on Sarah’s version of events here but I’m sure it’s not the sort of thing she would have exaggerated in order to extract favours from me in later life… Anyway, what I can remember for myself is a big sister who would spend most of her pocket money buying me Munch Bunch books, would let me have a sneaky lick of her ice pops when Mum wasn’t looking, and who kindled my love of horror films by showing me A Nightmare on Elm Street when I was 8. Granted I didn’t go to sleep for about a week afterwards in case Freddy Krueger came for me in the night, but I loved it and Sarah and I spent many happy evenings in the years that followed poring over the latest gruesome releases. If it featured a deranged psychopath or mutant killer fish, we were there. Sarah had so many facets to her. She was at once a great friend to many of you here today, a beloved daughter to my Mum and Dad and a loving mother to Archie and Charlotte. To me she was Big Sis; someone who has always been there, at every stage of my life, and indeed it is hard to imagine my life without her in it. I will miss her but take heart from having known her.