As a member of a dysfunctional family, I've never really had a chance to stand in a room full of people who I can truthfully call family. I have many close friends, and a few pseudo-family members whom I seem to have claimed over the years but none of them actually share my DNA. This last trip to Wales kinda proved to me what real family was all about.

To me:
Its about three generations laughing at each other, after giving warm hugs.
Its about 40 people meeting up, eating, drinking and laughing together.
Its about meeting people and knowing where they fit into your family history.
Its about listening to 80 y/o's swear and laugh, and knowing that you'll grow old disgracefully as well.
Its about hearing tales of the 'good old days' and laughing with my generation about the internet and 'technophobia'.
Its about people who accept you, without exception.
Its about pulling faces at a younger cousin, and seeing them smile.
Its about that smuggling that second mince pie, only to have it stolen from you with a wink and a smile.