I imagine not everyone understands my obsession with family history and genealogy. It's more than just a hobby, it's almost become a way of life. I love the hunt, searching for clues and solving mysteries, but more than anything I love the personal and emotional side to it, the connection you feel to people and the joy of exploring the little details of peoples lives and of reuniting them with their families.

I read something in one of my English genealogy magazines yesterday that I really liked, and it sums it up beautifully. It's from an article about how genealogists in previous generations were only concerned with the "great and the good." But...

"Nowadays, we love the ordinary people, the everyday folk - and quite right too. Their lives and their experiences might have lacked the glitter and the glory, and they may have lived in humble dwellings rather than grand houses, but every human story has its interest and every life was important.

That great, great grandmother [the writer's family legend that she was an aristocrat had proved false] with the illegitimate twins worked in a cotton mill in Ancoats in Manchester and eventually took up with a man who knocked her about and ill-treated her sons. One of those sons, my great grandfather, slept on straw in a stable, started work at the age of eight, looked after his little half-sister, who eventually died of consumption, and earned enough money to buy himself a donkey and cart.

He carried and carted for the local community in the east end of Manchester, married a woman he loved devotedly and died, worn out, in his early 50s. That's a real human story, and one I am fascinated by. To the genealogists of the 1950s it would have seemed beneath notice - a sordid and sorry little tale with no dignity and no merit. To me, it is part of my genetic make-up and is to be treasured."