Back when we took photographs with actual cameras and film and had the pictures printed at the chemist, we took a snap of our son on his first day of school.

He sat on the front steps of our then home, a terrace in London. He smiled awkwardly, barely managing to sit still for all of the excitement.

I don’t think of those London years very often. Life passes so quickly that living in the now feels imperative. But being back in London with time on my hands 22 years after returning permanently to Australia, the memories came upon me in a flood.

It was late spring. The milky light and warm days made me languorous and nostalgic about those few years we spent living there. Personal memories about people, I find, are very attached to place. I’ve written before about how I find it hard to visualise my long-dead parents because they never visited our current home.

So it has been with my boy (can I truly still call him my boy........

© The Guardian