Day 258. My Generation.

The invitation came completely out of the blue.

An old friend from school, a Facebook friend that I'd probably bumped into about three times over the last thirty years (despite, or perhaps only because, he spent a fair portion of that time living next to my brother in law) dropped me a direct message to say he was having a little get together in his house and did I fancy coming over? Some of the old crew would be there.

It's not the kind of question that you should ever say no to, not the kind of question or opportunity that pops up every five minutes, the chance to catch up with people that you haven't seen since you were 20.

There was a little trepidation; I had the horrible feeling that I would walk into a room full of people that I was supposed to know and not recognise a single one despite them knowing me. It's something that I'm very good/bad at; knowing for a fact that I know somebody, that I should know somebody but not having the slightest idea who they actually are. Carrying on conversations as though I'm completely in control whilst desperately digging for any clue that will give me the name of the other person. If you're ever in a social situation with me and you hear me addressing people as 'man', it's either a bad habit hanging over from one particular summer in the mid 80s or me trying to figure out who they are.

And now I've admitted that I have to point out that if you do catch me in this situation I will swear blind that it's the former and dig more furiously for hints and tips.

There was absolutely no need for pretence and panic. There weren't that many of us from school days and those that were present were as recognisable as they would have been if I'd last seen them last week. We don't really change, we're always who we are. Time may add some lines, some grey hairs, some inches around the waist band (I genuinely have added inches on my waistline, there was nothing there in the first place so anything on top would be a bonus) but we don't actually stop being 18.

So we caught up, caught up on work and health and geography and the obvious questions about who we're still in touch with and what are you doing with yourself and connected with who we were. And it was fantastic.

And we spoke as parents, how many children each had, what their age ranges were, what they were doing, how their education was and something became very clear.

Of the group's children there were some still in school with good hopes for further education, a couple in their early secondary years, a few with degrees in fascinating, focused, purposeful subjects with obvious roles that had spread them across the country and a professional footballer with a hopefully very bright future.

And when you add to all that our Tom's determination that at the end of his A Levels he will move away to University and then, if his intentions stay as they are, relocate to America what becomes clear is this;

What we all have in common is that we have raised children (now obviously adults in some cases) that know their own minds, that have the kind of specific ambitions that I think it's fair to say we never had when we were their age and are all intrinsically good people. It says a lot for us and, by extension, the way that our parents raised us.

For a bunch of lads from a very ordinary part of North Liverpool who all feel that they are still a set of 17 year olds (despite the fact that two of us have now turned 50 and I have six weeks left before its my turn, the 'baby' of the group has months yet, extending into an entirely different year) we've done very well for ourselves.

And we appear to be raising a fantastic next generation.