Boxes within boxes

Well, I’ve spent most of this week in the garage, delving into boxes. Boxes which I brought with me when I moved back to the UK five years ago, and which I have been rigorously avoiding opening ever since.

I do┬árather wish I’d left them closed. Among the sad discoveries were all the cards from the last Christmas I spent with Mr X, as well as all the children’s drawings and paintings to Mummy and Daddy, and a thousand more small everyday tokens of a married life which is now dead and gone and has the official stake of a decree absolute sticking out of its once-beating heart.

It’s been a grisly week, all proving, I think, that outward appearances can be misleading and what seemed like the perfect set-up was obviously not so – otherwise how could it be dismantled and destroyed so easily?

Oh well, it’s done and dusted now. Onwards and upwards.

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