At 69, I sold my house to travel around the world despite my children’s protests — in Australia, a man invited me to his home for coffee, but when I walked into his living room, I froze.

I asked her to go and find a biscuit tin with a Scottie dog on it, in a box marked PHOTOS, in a unit on the industrial estate at Marley Bridge, and to photograph one picture in it.

She did it on her lunch break and sent it to me and said: "Mum, what's going on?"

It is the same photograph. Of course it is. Same six people, same hedge, same squint.

But my mother had two copies printed in 1965 and sent one to Australia, and there is a difference between them that took me about four days to spot and that has done more to me than the frame did.

Mine is creased across the corner and has a tea ring on it and somebody has written on the front in biro, in about 1971, MUM'S LOT — which is my brother Keith being funny at fifteen.

His has not got a mark on it. Not one. Sixty years.