Of course my father and mother (mum’s stone will be put up later in the year next to dad) and the stone of my late in laws and then to one of my strangely favourite places – the grave of my mother’s parents, who I adored. I stood in front of the grave and read the inscriptions. I spoke to them, as I always do and then I placed a stone on each side – as is our custom. Their love, care, treats and endless games of cards plus squares of cadburys chocolate from the sweet tin and an olive or two from the jar in their fridge was a feature of every visit to their flat. They only lived across the road from our block of flats and I saw them several times a week. Grandma crocheted me dresses in the swinging sixties and hippy waistcoats and she taught me dances even though her arthritis prevented her from moving. I never tired of their company. My visit to the Royal Opera House to see Swan Lake with grandma when I was 8 is still a vivid and wonderful memory.

Seven years ago, after we put up the stone for dad, I was at the cemetery and went to visit his grave. I told my 5 year old grandson that I had been to visit Grandpa Jops (it’s a long story – but he really was his great grandpa Leslie and he and grandson were very close) and told grandson I had talked to my dad. The little fellow then asked, “Did he talk back?” That took a short amount of explanation but he “got it” and maybe he will go and talk to Grandpa Jops himself one day.