WHEN I was five I was in a hurricane.

This claim sounds unbelievable, doesn't it? But it is true.

Some of you may remember the gale of January 1976, otherwise known as the Capella Storm.

And guess where I was when it hit Europe? On a ferry, crossing the English Channel from Zeebrugge to Dover, with my mum, dad and brother.

We spent every winter with family in Belgium and would come home just after New Year. 1976 was no exception.

A standard eight or so hour crossing took almost 24, as the ship was anchored down somewhere out to sea after giant waves struck and the Lorries were chained down.

Chaos ensued. One poor man next to us crashed into a pillar, splitting his head open, another had a heart attack and there were several more casualties that we witnessed.

The terrified staff told us not to leave our seats.

I remember sitting, frozen in terror holding my dad's hand, while everyone around me were clutching brown paper bags and only pausing to scream.

I wasn't sick, neither was my dad, who has a very strong constitution, which I put down to a long family history of seafaring.

He was urging me to look out of the window. I didn't.

We were lucky to get off that boat, when it ventured into port the next day. At the time it storm was classed as the most severe storm of the century. It was a Gale Force 12 - a hurricane.

Of course, no one at school believed me. If only we had Google in those days.