I haven’t seen my parents in eighteen months, though we exchange weekly messages. Both are well and happy.
In March 2000, Dad and I attended a radio rally at Drayton Manor Park, and I had a horrible cold. I was out of tissue, and my dad went to the toilets to get some for me.
I watched as he pulled off sheet after sheet after sheet – it must have been nearly half a roll – to get to the middle where it would definitely be clean and free of germs.
That episode left a footprint on me as an unconscious signal of love and care, one that’s brought me much comfort down the years.