Husband has always read my blog. After yesterday's post - which you should probably read before this one if you haven't already - he sent me by email his own brain dump of Poole memories. He has given me permission to reproduce it here.
"Just checked your blog and I wanted to comment, saying all the special memories I have of Poole, of you bringing two wonderful babies into the world, walks along the promenade, strolling up the high street most weekends, trips to the private beach (Studland) just over from Sandbanks, our little workshops on the top floor of the house, your Amstrad, my lathe, the pew we bought at an auction, where I learned what a galley kitchen was, trying to park in our own street and using the cones to reserve a spot, having a "real" fire but in a kind of little iron house, gym membership at Racquets where we ate bigger lunches than the workout in the gym removed, ruining our new mattress by leaving it in the bedroom when they repaced the ceiling, M and T (friends), late night shopping at the garage only to re-meet the Katie as a nanny at Racquets a year later, Wimborne, our first Christmases as a family and leaving the turkey to defrost in the oven until it went off, Mothercare (we should have bought shares), planting vegetables in the second, walled garden out through the back of the shed. The poor bloke next door slowly losing himself to Alzheimer's, more basil and tomatoes than we knew what to do with. You telling me you were pregnant in the same rear garden, propping Son up for photos because he couldn't sit up yet, on that little green iron garden table set we bought in B&Q, Daughter's frogs legs as she slept. Pepper (the dog) on the beach in winter, the leaking roof, cosmetics to go, the playground in Poole park, the noise of the speedway track one evening a week, your little car crash on Ashley Road, Corfe Castle. Our first real family home with the red door and lots of stairs. "
And that, reader, is why I married him.