HOW do we know that an elephant never forgets? Someone would have to know an elephant all its life to know that. Nobody lives that long.

I have known Sylvia since she was eight. More than 70 years, and I am reminded every day, by what she says, that she definitely never forgets.

Talk about past events, songs, pictures, places, plants or pieces of clothing, no matter how long ago, and she’ll tell you what, where, when, how, why and who was involved.

Having, to my everlasting shame, once sent her an anniversary card on her birthday, my position in every difference of opinion or recollection is second best, except on rare occasions which I make the most of. She never remembers faces. I do. She always remembers names. I don’t.

She remembers all the birthdays, anniversaries, hospital and general health appointments, when to take and order our tablets, insurance and licence renewal dates, when to plant, feed and spray, when bills are due, how much to put away for them, who needs paying, what day it is, what we have to do and what we want to do.

That’s just one of the reasons I love her.

The main reason I don’t love her sometimes is when she says that awful word – decorating.

George Appleby, Clifton, York.