My dad is a lifelong Bob Dylan fan, his passion for Dylan is rivalled by nothing else in his life. I am a very, well I call it passionate, others tend to prefer obsessive, person and it's comforting to see where I get this from. There's a stack of scrapbooks in our loft full of pictures and newspaper cuttings of Bob, pasted in from years passed, and frames full of concert tickets showing the adventure he had, following Bob around Europe on every night of a tour.
By contrast, some of my early memories are of my parents having friends over, having a fair amount of wine and putting on Dylan records, waking a bleary-eyed five year old Amy in her bedroom upstairs. It took another ten years for me to start to appreciate his music.
I was lucky enough to see him play the Hop Farm Music Festival in 2010, and while according to my dad, not his best performance by a long way, it was still an experience.