But on Wednesday I had dinner with my sister, George. This in itself was lovely enough, but towards the end of the evening she handed me a wooden box. Inside was a small carved wooden man, jointed and dressed in a tiny suit. He had a piece of grey fur for hair, blue eyes and painted on rosy cheeks. His tiny shoes had little leather heels and you can still just about see where the strings were when he was a fully strung puppet.
George was given Luigi, as we now know his name is, by Dad shortly before he died. Dad made him when he was about 8 and must have had him hidden away since then as neither George, my Mum or I can remember seeing him before. Mum does remember Dad telling her about him though, and that's how we know about his Italian moniker.
He's an incredibly detailed piece of work, of such a level that at first I doubted that it could be an 8-year-old's craftsmanship - I've got a bit of puppet making experience, but I'm pretty certain that I couldn't create anything quite like this even now. But then I know that Dad had far more patience in his work than I have ever had.
My own interests mean that Luigi's appearance makes me feel as though I've had a little chat with Dad - a little shared experience. But it's strange to learn something new about your Dad, four years after he went silent. Good strange though.
In walking news, I managed 2 miles last night. I could have continued but I was pushed for time and the foot was starting up its dull ache. I think it's telling me that I'm going to have to take it slow and steady to get back to my usual routine, so the first marathon will have to be postponed until November.