When we bought our little Annex Victorian in 2007, the home came with a drab front door. We were so excited, and overwhelmed by our grand purchase, that the door wasn’t something we thought about for at least five years. My neighbour, Su and I used to take long walks around the neighbourhood, and on one of our many wanders we saw a beautiful pinkish/orange coloured door that inspired me to paint our charmless brown one a similar colour. I looked at twenty shades of coral, and finally picked a winner. It was called persimmon, and I loved it. A few years later, after a wonderful week in London where cobalt blue, racing green and scarlet red doors are in abundance, I felt ready for a change. We settled on a turquoise, and again I spent hours pouring over paint chips to find the right shade. In the end, the one we chose was a bit too toothpaste turquoise, but it was bright and cheerful, and in a city of drab doors, it stood out, and shouted, “Welcome!” Over the many years, I have amassed well over a hundred photographs of our children, and all the neighbourhood children, standing on our porch, a bright beacon of colour behind them. This morning, when my friend Alison sent me a photograph of our turquoise door unhinged, and propped up against the neon orange safety fencing, I felt pangs of nostalgia. Goodbye old door, thanks for having us.