He looks over with a slight smile as he goes by. I take in his watery eyes and return it.

Moving back to the collection of bags, my mind is now on weddings – specifically my own which was six years ago. Crazy to think how much has changed in that time, and how different my life is now. Back then I was up at five each day to get into the studio to prep for the day ahead. Sometimes I’d be hectically getting ready for segments to be rolled out – chucking in some last-minute voiceovers before it aired, or heading out to location to meet someone new and film something either uplifting and engaging, thought-provoking and sombre or totally bizarre and wild. It was varied and fun, allowing me to swan into work each day with a spring in my step as I prepared to face the unexpected with passion and delight. It was fun when Nick and I first met. I spoke to different people every day, I had interesting things to talk about and a desire to listen to stories, understand and immerse myself in new experiences.

I think of myself walking into any room these days, invariably wrestling two children while looking totally shattered and exhausted with life, and I shudder. It’s surprising he still tries it on with me at all.

It’s not like I miss the woman I once was – that would mean regretting the kids and I’m not down with entertaining that thought in the slightest – I just miss feeling like me and having my own needs met once in a while.

‘What’s this bag?’ I ask, pulling out a cotton bag from the bottom of the wardrobe.

Mike reaches out to take it, nodding with a smile on his face. ‘Her let’s-just-go bag,’ he smiles, opening it up and pulling out a couple of thin cotton towels that had been rolled up. He places them up under his arm and then pulls another item from the bag, a black bikini. ‘She treated herself to this before we went travelling around Brazil,’ he recalls, holding it up. ‘Most of the time she’d wear baggy slacks and vest tops, but as soon as we got near a beach this went on and she’d be in the sea within seconds, her arms sprawled out as she leaned back and allowed the sea to take hold of her – a pause in all the adventuring.’

I watch him, his eyes dancing as the memory hits him.

‘A let’s-just-go bag,’ I repeat.

‘No sense in waiting or being held back by packing.’

‘So mundane,’ I shrug.

‘Exactly. Her travelling backpack is loaded and ready to go in the garage,’ he laughs, pulling the bikini into his chest as he does so. ‘This is the tamer “let’s-get-out-of-London” version.’