From the ages of four to six Liz was one of those special relatives that came to take me on a very strange evening out in that box bigger on the inside than on the outside (television).
And while Doctor may have stopped looking and acting like Tom Baker (I had already experienced this sort of thing when he stopped looking like that bloke off the SPLINK adverts and Whodunnit?) , Liz and Sarah Jane stayed the same.
She'd turn up every now and then, inexplicably dangle off a not too high cliff or twist her ankle (Susan Foreman syndrome) and then suddenly turn up again a couple of decades later, looking exactly the same.
BBC production values didn't paint a gloss over her and create the sort of barrier that can normally exist between an actress and a loyal fan base.
Look at the rather potty opening titles for K9 And Company and you might as well be looking at a family super 8 or camcorder memento of a damp holiday.
Watching Liz suffer an event as well intendedly petty as Dimensions In Time (shudder) feels exactly like getting to see Youtube footage of a well loved Aunty bathing in baked beans or dressed like a cat for charity.
There is a level of familiarity with her voice and face and general mannerisms (almost certainly false but undeniably there) which feels as true as almost any relationship in my life (family, friends etc) so it is indeed an odd sensation to read of the death of someone who never knew me but felt to me as integral a part of my life many of the people who know or knew me back.
It's difficult for to explain this to you HDTV CGI age youngsters but when you have hours and hours of footage (sound and vision) of someone you first 'met' when not being old enough for long trousers still meant something, not having any more from her really does sum up just how rubbish mortality is.
As Lieutenant Kinderman put it "Plainly speaking, it's a lousy idea. It's not popular, Father. It's not a winner."