Went to the post office this morning with one of those slips from the mailbox in hand, curiously addressed to Mr F [Surname].
I'd forgotten. My mum asked last week if she could buy and send him a fortnightly comic she thought he'd like, because when she was a girl, her far-away grandmother used to do that for her.
Today is the first instalment, now waiting on the kitchen table for when F finishes school.
When the Express Post package was handed to me over the counter today and I saw my mother's familiar handwriting, I wanted to cry - for just one little split-second moment.
I have no idea why.