Dear John

I’ve just walked past one of your favourite shops on Torquay harbour, which sells the sort of seasidey, yachty, posh things you always liked.

You dreamed of having a big house where you would have your own private bar, done out like a seaside pub with all sorts of nautical stuff in, like ship models and knot collections and yacht photos.

This shop has lovely things like carved wading birds and metal fishes and wooden lighthouses.  I would have bought you things for your private pub, I’d love you to have been able to achieve that.

But you’re gone, so I’m never going to go in that shop again.

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