It was late in a summer evening in 1960. I was standing by the stage door of what used to be a lovely theatre on the end of the Palace Pier.

I was talking to the youngest, most glamorous member of the repertory company performing there for the holiday season.

She was deliciously slim, with long blonde hair and a tiny skirt doing nothing to hide her perfect legs. As we chatted and laughed, she challenged me to pick her up and carry her off the pier - and with all the bravado of a totally-infatuated young buck, I did precisely that.

She was as light as candy floss. I was a victor, striding the length of the then dimly, but prettily-lit pier, holding in my arms the woman I would marry just a few months later.

It was a wonderfully romantic moment in time - the outcome of my taking outrageous advantage of being an Argus reporter. I had reviewed a play in which the young ingenue by the name of Judy Cornwell had utterly bewitched me. Shamelessly, I gave her a rave review and took advantage of it a day or so later to go the stage door and introduce myself.

The rest, as they say, is history.

But the events of that summer, more than 40 years ago, created an indelible memory of a seaside structure that, in its quirky but unique fashion, changed the course of my life.

And it did so for thousands of others who met for the first time and had wonderful days on it. The Palace Pier could be appallingly garish, loud, vulgar and enormous fun. It could also be a dangerous place, as the film of Graham Greene's Brighton Rock showed all too clearly.

But in the evenings, by moonlight, with the waves lapping gently below, it could be a perfect lover's trysting place.

Much of that aura was created by the presence of the theatre, which is why it was such a shock and such a civic outrage when it was taken down in 1986.

It was painstakingly taken apart and much of the structure stored so it could be rebuilt after the pier was refurbished. Mysteriously, all the parts disappeared. It was wickedness that was never pursued.

After modest tut-tutting, the whole matter was brushed under the carpet by this city and this council, which claim to be so proud of our theatre tradition.

The character of the pier has changed dramatically since then and of course, it had to. It was a commercial project that had to be made to pay its way. The Noble Organisation has spent a fortune creating one of the finest piers of its kind, probably anywhere in the world.

Yet in spite of the brilliantly-lit, brash modern image, it still retains a special charm for those of us who have such special memories.

On the morning of our 40th wedding anniversary in December, a couple of years ago, Judy and I walked the length of it under an umbrella in the drizzling rain. We had coffee and doughnuts. Somehow we could still feel the presence of the theatre. This disaster cannot be the end of it all.