So I've decided, tongue in cheek, to sling together just some typical scenarios describing a few things some of us may have experienced for the first time..they are not autobiograhical accounts..but, hopefully, particularly for those of you of my age, they may raise a smile and ring a bell or two.

Take early childhood..the first time you manage to pedal more than 10 yards on a 2 wheel bike without suffering the ignominy of painfully, and regularly, toppling onto the hard..but much too familiar..blood-stained road on your Council Estate!

Not only did it give you a warm, inner glow of personal, self satisfaction, it also brought well earned relief to your parents, whose patience, after purchasing the bike from Foster Powell's shop of wonders, (see photo) had been wearing thinner than a well worn string vest, after they'd come to the conclusion that their tumbling, short-trousered offspring must be suffering from a severe form of skeletal imbalance, with the bones on one side of their body far outweighing those on the other!

On the negative side, your Triumphant bike riding "first" brought an unwelcome economic downturn to all the shopkeepers who, until then, had been doing a roaring trade on the bloodthirsty sales of bandages and sticking plasters!

Staying with the transport theme, and having reached the age of 17, the next tummy-wrenching "first" is probably of the 4 wheeled kind..when you're allowed, legally, to slide, unaccompanied, behind the wheel of your father's painstakingly polished Morris Minor, after finally passing your driving test, leaving in the wake of exhaust fumes..12 failures, 4 new clutches, a kami-kazi moggy and 2 "broken" driving instructors!

The elation felt at the L plates burning ceremony is quickly tempered by the sudden feeling of loneliness and accountability you face when you take control of the 4 wheeled death trap, which, during the time you've been learning, has grown to hate you!

No longer is there someone sitting alongside you to offer guidance..or scream spur-of-the-moment instructions, such as.."Left !..I said left, you stupid *******Mind that old lady with the trolley..." or.."you do realise you're allowed to get out of second gear now and again..don't you ?" I may as well complete these travelling "firsts" by taking to the air, because another hugely traumatic "first" comes with your initial introduction to flying.

Your friends, being seasoned air travellers, for weeks have been telling you how marvellous it is.."Don't forget..if you get the chance, pop along to the cockpit and ask the Captain to show you around...It's brilliant!

There's millions of switches and knobs.." On the day of your inaugural flight, despite being delayed en route to Cardiff airport by a puncture on your father's Morris Minor (reluctantly lent to you), proving emphatically that the car still bore you a personal grudge, at last you've boarded the plane, and are ready to fly.

The take-off is far too noisy for your liking, but you try to appear nonchalant and unruffled..but deep down you're convinced you can detect a clunk coming from one of the engines..(had a drunken mechanic left his spanner in it ?)..It was probably what caused that noisy lift off back at the airport!

With beads of sweat peppered across your forehead, and both hands ghostly white gripping the arms of your seat, you decide against seeking out the Captain, with his million knobs, to warn him about the clunk..which seems to be getting louder!

He'd sounded tipsy when he'd introduced himself to the passengers, any panic might cause him to erroneously press the ejector button ! And that's not all that worries you.

You've started to think that the bald headed guy in the seat alongside, although he looks innocent enough in his sensible grey suit and puce, horn-rimmed glasses, is, in reality, something far more sinister.

The foreign magazine he's been reading could easily be a copy of Terrorist Monthly, with him on his way to his next gig..about to hijack the plane and fiddle about with the tipsy Captain's assortment of switches and knobs!

A few hours later, when you reach your destination, except for the bleeding lip the man in the sensible suit gave you when he misinterpreted your frisking him for concealed weapons as an attack of a more personal nature...your flying "first" is complete.. You're smugly satisfied, but a nervous wreck!

There are, of course, some "firsts" in your life which fall into the awesome category. Like hearing the organist play "Here comes the bride" as you stand, in a hired suit, in St Katharines Church, ( see photo) praying that your best man..who at last night's stag party, which had involved a pub crawl from Milford to Hakin, where he'd been crowned "king of the yard of ale," won't be sick over his own hired suit..or the vicar...

Then comes the heart stopping "I do" ...spoken for the first, and if you're lucky, only time in your life. I've already stressed that these "firsts" are not mine, personally...but neither are they complete fabrications..merely a humorous reflection of simple, naive experiences, a mix of the factional and the fictional...with not a name in sight to cause any possible law suits!

I leave you with the wise words of the "first" man of Rock'n Roll..Sir Mick Jagger... "Make the most of your first times..and always remember.."This could be the last time" as well. Take care..please stay safe.