Putting my feet up, I sneakily leaned over for the TV remote.
Hearing a familiar jangle ‘everybody needs good neighbours’ booming from the speakers, I hoped my husband Donald, 67, hadn’t heard the tune.
‘You better not be turning over Neighbours,’ Donald chuckled from the kitchen, before joining me on the sofa.
It was his favourite TV soap, and we must have seen every episode twice over together.
Snuggling into one another, we laughed at Jason Donovan on the big screen, with our son James, 22, sniggering from the other side of the room.
‘Not this again,’ he joked, rolling his eyes.
Me and Donald had been together for 25 years, after first meeting, ironically, as next-door neighbours.
From the moment I first laid eyes on him, I knew I…
