Throwing stones into a pool on route to a waterfall, reminding me of my childhood holidays, skimming stones across streams on northern moors and in island glens.
This week, 30 years later, we spend your school holidays at the sea, with your bucket and spade and rake, or hedgehog as you call it; and you announce that you are ‘the collector’ gathering treasure of shell and stone.
You decide that it is better to leave them behind at the beach, even the purple-edged shell and the heart-shaped stone, despite my best efforts to convince you to keep them, as memories, for your collection.
But perhaps you know better than me, that stones don’t hold memories, and in fact I have many I’ve gathered over the years which no longer remind me of anything.
Maybe what matters is not the collection but the act of collecting.