At the kitchen table, Dad was poring over the papers, picking out the horses he reckoned were winners.
‘It’s never going to make you a millionaire!’ I teased.
‘You never know, though, pet,’ he laughed.
My dad Steve Phillips, 54, was an odd-job man and gardener.
He was well-liked locally, stopping to talk to anyone when he went off on walks with his beloved Staffie Beaut.
As well as betting on the horses, Dad loved to fish, and was a regular down his local.
But, above all else, he was a family man.
There were six of us kids – me, Ashley, 25, Barry, 23, Luke, 21, Craig, 19, Chloe, 16. There was also my mum Tina’s daughter Shannon, 11, from another relationship. Mum and Dad had split in 2003,…
