It is a bit of a family joke that I wasn't especially happy when, aged 3, Annie came along.
Like many family jokes, it is probably 20% legend, 20% truth and 60% amusing anecdote. My mum ADORES to tell the story how she used to hide Annie's crib behind the sofa as she was scared I'd try and pick her up to torture her. I love to raise a laugh now and again about how Mum, Dad and I were 'The Original Three' - a trio so content I've been puzzled ever since why they added to the clan.
But it isn't really true. Other than a few teenage moments, I've always adored my little sisters and would have been fearful lonely growing up without them.
That said - this last week it has been all 1983 - The Original Three are back.
I've been in the family home for a week as I had an operation last week (yes it was grim, yes I'm making a fuss, please send floral bouquets to the usual address). I haven't really been able to move that much, so mum swooped down to London to pick me up and I've been here for quite some days. I am slightly losing track of time - it could be the painkillers but it could also be the gentle whirr of the washing machine which seems to always be running.
So I 've had a unique opportunity to recreate our glory years, with my parents all to myself - a very rare treat.
Some things are just the same. My mum still runs the show. After the operation the nurses strictly told me no showering or bathing for 2 weeks - till the stitches come out. I told mum this - she cocked an eyebrow at me and said I'd feel much better for a shower.
So she fashioned a waterproof device out of a Marks and Spencer plastic bag - "a quality plastic darling, none of that CO OP rubbish" and masking tape. You can imagine how I felt - aged 32, naked as the day that I was born, fairly off my tits on morphine, in a considerable amount of pain.
Vulnerable to say the least. But in a week when you had to learn to use a bedpan, you just have to crack on and do what the lady holding the masking tape tells you.
Mum did everything she could to make me feel as comfortable as possible, but I got the feeling she was quite enjoying it all.
"Gosh your nipples really are so different to mine - how extraordinary".
"Oh yes, look that hole I made wasn't nearly big enough for your thigh to fit through!"
"Do you have a Brazilian or just au naturel?"
Evenings have been spent in an amiable fashion. Dad gets home from work at 6, and immediately asks when supper is. So we eat about 6.45pm which on day one shocked me and I rolled my eyes in an urban way as possible - and now I'm so conditioned I cannot imagine how I will go back to the normal 8.30pm supper that Mr Rose and I manage.
Dinner done by 7pm - who am I kidding - 6.54pm - we have the whole evening ahead of us for trying to find something to watch on TV we all like. Last night we watched Failure to Launch - a fairly dire film in which the 35 year old son refuses to move out of the family house. Topical, eh?
At 9.30pm a marvellous thing happens - snack time! Dad does a round of hot drinks and snacks for us all! Last night I had Horlicks and salted caramel ice cream!! Tonight I had coffee and malteasers!! Dreamy. I may never leave.
Then at 10pm we have to watch the BBC evening News. Mum talks through most of the "foreign" news, so if anyone could catch me up with Syria this week I'd be ever so grateful.
Then comes the climax of the evening. Drum roll please. THE WEATHER!!!!!!!!!!
If one of them is out of the room, the other will bellow "WEATHER", and they missing parent will race into the room. They watch the local weather first. Then the national weather. There is always much discussion about the weather.
I find it all a bit puzzling. To the best of my knowledge, neither of them are crop farmers. Neither of them spend much time out of doors. It is January and all it does is rain. I've shown them both the weather app on the Ipad and their Iphones. Odd.
After the weather dad sternly says that it is getting late and we all trot off to bed.