The other day, while clearing out the attic, I found this collage of our family growing up. It was made by my elder daughter, using home -made flour-and-water glue on cardboard, when she was around seven years old and I remember wondering how long it would take for the whole thing to turn to pulp.
Thirty years later it is still looking good ( though I'm sure I'll get some stick for reproducing it here) and brings back all sorts of memories.
As an author I use my own memories to portray the recent past, and spend months researching historical events to ensure accuracy and authenticity. But I never regard my research as complete until I find old photographs of the era - images that, to me, can often say so much more than the written word.
Holiday snapshots, formal portraits, family scenes from the turn of the century, all of these tell their own story. The words are unspoken but the images speak for themselves.
My Smartphone now holds hundreds of photographs of family and friends, of places I have visited and amusing moments captured in single moment, while the internet is awash with shots of baby Prince George and the young royals' trip to Ayers rock. But I bet Kate would swap them all for a family album. What do you think?