Almost reached the end of the photo sorting. Having been very ruthless initially I then went back through the suitcase and retrieved some originally for disposal. Just in case. And I was all ready to throw Uncle's war-time letters home away when Husband said, 'You can't do that. Maybe the museum would want them.'
Okay, perhaps there are one or two that mention interesting aspects of service life but on the whole they're very boring. So I've filed them in a drawer for someone else to decide after I've gone.
Anyway we used to have a peach tree - until it became diseased and died - and one year we had an exceptionally good crop.
So we must have had good summers once upon a time.
But even when we went to New York it was humid and damp. Never got to the top of the Empire State because it was always covered in mist. Husband did make it to the top of the old Twin Towers before its destruction but I was stuck in a small hotel room interviewing my cop at that time.
But this is one of my favourite NY buildings, the flatiron.
We were talking about dying in bed this morning. Correction, in bed we were talking about dying. Husband said, 'I don't want a gravestone. But would you like me to put your name on one?'
'No, you can scatter my ashes from the cliffs. The only trouble is the wind is always onshore.'
'That's okay,' Husband said. 'I'll take you to your favourite place where you always like to fly and let your ashes fly away.'
'Of course! That's wonderful. Where you would like to be scattered?'
'I don't care.'
'On the boggy hill then.'
'Yes, okay, from the top where there's a nice view.'
Then followed a short argument about who was going first. 'It's a well-known fact,' Husband said, 'that women live longer than men so you'd better make sure the children know.'
So, children, please note. In case we never get around to updating our wills. Currently we leave our children in the care of grandma and pop but that may be invalidated now that: a) grandparents are dead; and b) children have children of their own.