Both my mother and TPR were released from their respective care homes for the day.

My mother was in particularly fine fettle. She was able to keep up with my father’s walking pace – albeit at a distance – and cogent enough to understand the reasons why she no longer lived at home. TPR’s sudden decline into dementia was much more worrying.

Meanwhile my sister S was working with a librarian in a secret meeting to track down details of the 1970s green and white flowered china that I was keen to collect. I was somewhat miffed not to be included in the discussions, especially given my qualifications for the role.

While everyone else was occupied, LvZ approached me for an interview. They hoped to bring back the annual online conference and I would be one of the key attractions. LvZ pressed down two buttons on the old-fashioned tape recorder and listened intently as it put down my memories.

It was soon time for me to deliver my mother and TPR back to their care home accommodation so I rushed off to find the pair of them. I made a mental note to the tell the manager that I didn’t approve of the huge sawn-off-at-the-shoulder bloodied arm that lay on the grass right next to the care home entrance.