A gent named Mr Allen said to me many years ago: "It's far better to have memories than dreams." It's stuck, and the older I get the more it rings true.

In the past, when I used to own a country pub/hotel, this old guy came up from Cardiff on a regular basis. Being a widower he enjoyed the company of folk drinking, eating and gassing both sides of the bar and managed to sink a few beers himself. His son used to run him up, drop him off and arrange to pick him up once his stay was over.

He loved chatting to the waitresses, and he and my husband – a convivial host, if there ever was one – talked a lot. In fact, they used to chew the fat and set the world to rights into the early hours of the morning.

I can see what he means about dreams and memories. Dreaming about wanting something or wanting to do something doesn't necessarily come to fruition. Some people hanker to climb Mount Everest, sail off into the sunset or merely ache to grow the biggest marrow in all the world and win a place in the Guinness Book of Records.

Some of us whose figures are a little larger than they used to be wish we could lose weight. We're convinced we'll look good in a teeny weeny polka dot bikini. But not everyone gets to fulfil their dreams.

There's also the fact that our dreams alter over the years. We might have wished for a Mary Quant mini skirt and a Vidal Sassoon geometric bob back in the Sixties, but now we'd settle for a pair of fat-control undergarments and a good blonde hair dye that admirably covers the grey.

Holidays rates high on the list of dreams. Gone are the day trips to a West Country seaside resort where the tide goes out the minute the train comes in.

Beavering away in a city office, the eye slides from computer screen to a postcard bought on a whim. The sky and sea are blue and the sand sparkles like powdered stars. It's something to dream about when the weather outside is slate grey and your clothes are still wet from the dash to work.

That's just an annual dream, though. Dreams can also last a lifetime.

John Harrison worked for years on the ultimate chronometer – the method by which sea-going vessels could measure longitude. He was doing all this back in the 18th century. His health suffered as a result of it because he was so determined to crack the problems of keeping time accurate and sailors safe.

Sir Malcolm Campbell dreamed of attaining the world land speed record. He reached enormous speeds time after time and died in the process. Perhaps these two examples might be termed obsessions, but to my mind they were still dreams – wishing to attain an ultimate goal against all odds.

What a warm glow John Harrison must have felt once he'd finally cracked it and got the backing of the king. Sitting in his chair in front of the fire he must have pondered the road he'd travelled to get there – a road full of memories. Not so Sir Malcolm Campbell, of course.

Which brings me back to my first point, or rather, that of Mr Allen, my friend from Cardiff. Life is not a rehearsal. Follow your dream and do your utmost to turn it into reality. And don't let the grass grow under your feet before you get round to doing it. After all, you do need some time after you've achieved your dream to savour the memory. That's what it's all about.

■ Profound apologies for blaming Labour for creating Avon. It was Conservative leader Ted Heath – and he really should have known better. My husband used to work for Avon and he blamed them, but then his head isn't quite right of late.