One day I was having lunch in the garden when the neighbour approached me. He had sad news. He had been informed that the woman I had bought my house from, Rose, had died. That is sad! I know she was ill; we had had occasional contact since she moved out and I moved in. But she wasn't very old, and wouldn't have been unthinkable she would just recover. But she clearly hadn't! She must have barely had time to enjoy her new phase of life.
To be honest, I'm not sure about the people who owned it before her. As I have the archive of the house I know that they bought it in the 70s. It is far from unthinkable that they also sold it because it was getting a bit much for them. And as they sold it to Rose in 1998, they might not be alive now either. I could very well be the last living person who has lived in this house! That feels weird. And I think this is the first time I am in a position like that. I suppose that's what you get when you start buying houses rather than renting them.
When Rose moved out, she didn't quite empty out the house. I still have a lot of stuff I have inherited from her! And these have now pretty much become historical artefacts. I will use them with extra respect. Like the lawnmower. And the kitchen scissors. And the cleaning mop. And the Christmas decoration. And the sander, the workmate, the axe, the binoculars, the pan and brush, the scales, the shovel, the fruit bowl and all the other things she left. Rest in peace, Rose!