IT never ceases to amaze me how quickly time races ahead. At the weekend, we celebrated our daughter’s 21st birthday. How can that be? How can the years have sped by in such a blur?

I found myself leafing through her “Baby Journal”, which we’d filled in after she was born: weight – 7lb 8oz, the same as her big brother Christopher; length – 50cm; head circumference – 34cm.

Under “Thoughts and Feelings”, I’d written: “Cried when I saw it was a girl – couldn’t tell Heather what we’d had until I’d pulled myself together. Enjoyed the whole experience much more second time around – excited as opposed to frightened. Heather was amazing – brave and in control. Proud of them both.”

A couple of pages later, under “First Impressions”, I’d added: “She looks like a little squashed tomato, but I know she’ll be beautiful one day.”

We called her Hannah Olivia but for years she was known as “Me too”, because she liked to do whatever her big brother did.

“I want to play in the garden.”

“Me too.”

“I want to have a drink.”

“Me too.”

Me Too loved her food and will always be remembered for her comment at bedtime when she was six: “Daddy, I love you almost as much as I love cheese sandwiches.”

Now, all of a sudden, she’s a lovely young woman, chasing her dream of being a dancer.

After three years at the Northern School of Contemporary Dance, she’s been up and down the country, auditioning for dance companies. It’s been an emotional time, with hopes soaring, then being dashed by the brutal selection process.

Finally, with a perfect sense of timing, she was made an offer on the eve of her birthday to join a post-graduate dance company in London, called Transitions, and will spend next year touring Europe.

All you ever want, when you become a parent, is for your children to be happy and the news turned my eyes all misty. It all meant she could enjoy her birthday all the more, free from worry about the immediate future.

The day involved lots of young people spending Sunday afternoon in our garden, squeezing into a hired hot tub, and drinking enough alcohol to warrant a trip to the bottle bank.

At one point, I was made to prove myself in front of the youngsters by downing a vodka shot and received an enthusiastic round of applause for my efforts.

But the day wasn’t just about the young. Perhaps the most poignant moment came when Hannah unwrapped her presents, which included a pearl necklace from my wife and I, and a silver bangle from her Auntie Hazel.

From my mum, 82, there was something much more precious: the old gold locket she’s worn as long as I can remember. A note with it read: “This little locket carried a picture of my mum for over 50 years. Now it’s replaced with wedding day pictures of your mum and dad to keep for the next 50 years. Lots of love, grandma x.”

It’s a scary thought, but in 50 years, Hannah will be 71. Perhaps she’ll have a grand-daughter of her own, and the locket may find a new owner.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

AT a meeting of Crathorne WI, Deborah Gravestock remembered the time she was teaching at Redbrook Primary School, in Stockton. The class had been talking about the Christmas story the day before and the Angel Gabriel had been mentioned.

“Can anyone remember what the angel was called?” asked Deborah.

After a few seconds’ silence, a little boy called Andrew stuck up his hand.

“Do you know, Andrew?” asked Deborah.

“Yes,” shouted Andrew, “it was Angel Delight.”

JUDITH Langford recalled the time grand-daughter Rebecca, nine, had come to terms with the death of her hamster, Scamp.

Grandma had provided a mini cereal box for a coffin and, after digging a hole in the garden, Rebecca disappeared upstairs before coming down dressed from head to toe in black. “I’m in mourning,” she declared, solemnly.

Rebecca buried Scamp, put two flowers on his grave, and then disappeared again for a while.

“Where’ve you been?” asked Grandma when the little girl reappeared.

“Oh, I’ve been bouncing on the trampoline – grieving,” came the reply.