My guest is asleep in the spare room and I sit here finishing my glass of wine. It is twenty-odd years since I last tasted Listel… a gris de gris that holds a lot of memories… and a wine shared last with the same person, all those years ago in France. Before life got in the way.

It is not a special wine… just a reliable brand name. I can’t get it here in England, but it is a light, crisp, almost-rosé that I once loved and which brings back memories. And memories have been the order of the evening as we looked at photos, dug out old vinyl albums, spent time with our sons and verbally visited the once-upon-a-time.

There has been music… he is a singer-songwriter and always was. A poet with a guitar. There was the gift of a song written for me decades ago… and many new ones. My French has come out to play and as the evening drew in seemed to remember itself as I told him of the School and we discussed our boys, spirituality and philosophy. It has been a surprisingly pleasant evening.

Tonight we are simply old friends, though thirty years ago we married after the most romantic of meetings.

I cannot say that we were transported back to youth… that is not the case. Going back is not an option. We have aged… grown…changed in the many years apart. To revisit the past in good circumstances is a treat… a luxury seldom allowed and I am grateful tonight for that luxury. The glass is empty, the bottle too… but the memory is good.