It’s Stephen’s birthday tomorrow and yet again I’ve forgotten to send a card that will get there in time. My son Dominic announced some years ago that he was not buying cards again, they were a waste of money and he’d rather spend it on a decent present. An admirable stand to take. He’s right of course, but the gifts become anonymous over time and we keep cards to remind us of the people who love us. so I’ll buy one and put a first class stamp on to make me feel better though I don’t think it will arrive on the day. Thinking of him reminded me of the trip we did to our old home in Redditch. I had questions: how old was that house? Who lived there? Stephen researches as part of his work. We spent a fun afternoon at the computer as he gave me a crash course on sources of information. There is a site called ‘Old Maps’, who knew? The house was the only one named on the oldest available map, in 1883, so it was older than that and significant enough to be recorded. Other records gave us the names of two previous owners, one of whom was an active member of the community. The other was a soldier who died in the first world war. We used Google maps to find other houses we had lived in, in Yorkshire and Norfolk. I’ll visit them next trip. Places in my autobiography become more real when they exist outside my memory. Now, that birthday card. Being on an island means the mail travels to England on the plane. There is one at lunchtime.