When I was about ten years old, my Dad carried an old wooden piano that he found at a relative's house, up a hill in the rain. I watched as he grimaced under the weight of it, and then stood helplessly as he buckled and fell onto the wet ground.

Some things I will never forget, and that image of my Dad struggling to carry a piano that he hoped one day I would play, is one of them. I think it is because to me it is like a priceless artefact; tangible proof of the depth of everything good a parent invests in their child. It is the purest form of love- an unconditional love driven by nothing more than a desire to see them chase their dreams.

One day, I hope to do the same for my child- but in the meantime, that single image from my childhood reminds me that I owe it not just to myself, but also my parents, and anyone who has invested anything in me, to be spectacular; to repay belief with effort, to never settle for mediocrity. And to never, ever, forget.