While JM popped out to buy éclairs (or similar) and TPR tackled the washing up, I took a close look at the crumbling antique furniture that was rammed into the space at the bottom of our stairs.

Why did we own a tatty Victorian secretaire covered in cursive script that charted its heritage? I recognised the name ‘Sadie’ from the early twentieth century, but none of the others were associated with my family.

At the centre of the secretaire’s ‘lid’, the wording and carved images indicated that the first owner was a military officer in colonial India. In that case, I was not too sure that I wanted to find any family association with this shabby wooden object.