When packing to go away I usually make lists. My clothes and toiletries is a very long list. Keith’s clothes and toiletries, a very short list. I also have a list by the back door which reminds me not to forget to take, the camera, the phone charger, passports, tickets, money, and still I go back into the house at least three times for something or other. Then I get as far as Close’s garage and have to go back for my sun glasses. Why am I so forgetful? Is it just because I’m excited about going on holiday or just stressed out with all the organising and re-organising any trip away requires. Or maybe I recall the time when I went away for a fortnight’s camping and forgot my clothes. Yes, the tent was up and car was completely unpacked and my case of clothing for the holiday was on the top of the stairs 300 miles away. All I had to wear were the clothes I stood up in. I just couldn’t believe it, I mean I’d packed everyone’s else stuff it was only mine that was forgotten.

My daughter Jo once went to Bath for a long weekend with her boyfriend. He came out of the shower and found that his trousers had not made the trip. All he had to wear was the pair of shorts he’d travelled in and they had booked to go out for dinner. Of course I am rather inclined to take too much with me generally.

In contrast, when Keith was just a boy his parents booked a self catering ‘chalet’ for the family, including Grandma. Back then people were expected to bring everything with them - towels, sheets and believe it or not cutlery. Keith’s Dad paid the coach driver ‘2 bob’ to drop them off, as near as possible to the chalet. He picked up the family’s large, bulging at the seams, battered cardboard suitcase and waved the coach off happily. A moment later the handle broke and the case flew open delivering it’s contents, including the household cutlery, out across the road. The family watched in vain as their tins of soup, beans, and that good old family standby ideal milk, bounced down the road in the wake of the departing coach.