Last week my triplet (I know!) brothers and sister turned 30.
Which gave me an excuse to dig out the old family albums, tucked away on the top shelf of a wardrobe at my parents’.
For an hour or so I got lost in a little bubble of nostalgia. Laughing at our chubby cheeks and gap-toothed grins.
And then I found myself thinking about the rather inglorious death of the family photo album.
Most of us new parents have probably got more photos on our phones of our little ones in the first month of their lives, than there are in existence from our entire childhoods.
Pretty much every single day of Sonny Jim’s life has been snapped on my phone. A fair number of them end up being posted on Instagram, and being WhatsApped to his daddy.