The last member of the last generation of my family died during the week.
She, too, had made it past 90, which worries me considerably. I'm not sure I can stand living to 102.
She led a marvellous life, interspersed with disaster and travail, as nearly all lives are. She was my mother's younger sister. In their young days, my mother would frequently prey upon her baby sister, one time putting her onto the luggage rack on a train and leaving her there.
Later in life, they were inseparable friends.
I spent many half-terms with she and her husband, as my parents were frequently abroad, and my fondest memories of her were the delicious chocolate cakes she sent regularly to school. As you can imagine, for a small boy with a sweet tooth, this was nirvana.
She remained a good looking woman all her life., with a streak of vanity and pride in her appearance, which one day prompted her to ask her husband if she was as beautiful as when he had married her.
" Of course you are my darling" he replied " It just takes you a little longer"