Dear me

For the last 2 days I have been engaged in on of those tasks that I truly hope is a once in a lifetime experience - sorting through my dad's home and deciding what to keep and what can go.

Having never done anything like this before I am unsure of the protocols. Dad was only buried last week. Is there a decent interval of time to be observed before I begin to file his life away into boxes and consign his many shirts to the charity shops? Or is it best just to get on with it?

Of course, there is no answer. Each person can only do what is right for them. But it's not just about time, it's also about state of mind. What might appear to be a pile of junk must have meant something to someone once and be there for a reason.

I'm glad to say that my dad was a very ordinary man and no shocking secrets have emerged as I have gone through his possessions. Although it is disturbing to find the Christmas gift of a couple of years ago still in its wrapper.

Going through the worldly goods of someone who has been around for your entire existence means not only finding bits of their life but bits of your own too.

One piece of memorabilia (junk) I am not sure what to do with is a huge picture of me when I was 20 and on holiday in Crete. I recall that my mum had taken my holiday snaps to be developed and wanted some copies made. She went back the next week and was handed a large cardboard tube.

'I ordered post card sized prints,' said Mum. ' What's this?'

'Post card?' said the assistant. 'Oh, we thought you said poster.'

Reasoning that the huge prints were no good to the shop, mum paid the post card price and carried me home.

Thus it was that a very slim, fit, tanned and almost life sized looking version of me came to adorn my parents home for many years to come. Luckily, my dad had the good sense to consign the picture to the spare room. I know it's vanity, but I just couldn't bear to take me to the tip.

Another curiosity was I letter I found. It was written by me to my parents during my first week away from home as a student. 18 year old me was a very serious chap who gives reassuring information about sticking to halves when going out to pubs with the older students. It also conveys interesting details about needing to buy another track suit as the college are very particular about the colours worn by PE students. There didn't appear to be much work done during that first week.

The letter made me think of a book that came out recently called: 'Dear Me: A letter to my 16 year old self', which is a compendium of letters from famous folk to their young selves. A brilliant idea and probably something we should all do.

If I could give just three pieces of advice to the 18 year who wrote that letter back in September 1976 they would be:

Don't worry so much. 98% of the things you worry about in the years to come are never going to happen. And of the rest you will sort out half of them and the others just couldn't be avoided anyway.

If you realise you have you have made a big mistake then pride is never a good reason for not changing your mind and putting it right. Today's dented pride is tomorrow's battle scar, but regret is a wound that never heals.

Don't waste your time fighting those curls. Enjoy them while you can, they won't be there forever.

Live long and prosper.