I think of James sat in the doorway of his tent cooking bacon and eggs after a wet night in the Gower. I think of our weekly success at the Banco Lounge pub quiz, mostly down to James, whose curious mind stored facts about everything. I think of James on a night out in the tobacco factory, making my hair clip behave like a wild animal. I think of James balanced on a huge rock on the north Devon coast, leaning forward at an impossible angle, being held upright by the wind. I think of James' love of the book 'stuff on my cat' and him making our cat delirious with catnip. I think of James cooking a pasta bake and bringing it round for a Saturday night in when I was heavily pregnant. I think of James and Andy recounting their squash victories over one another. I think of James at a Christmas party, pinching food from across the table with the extendable fork he'd won in a game of stealing Santa. I think of James tending to the firepit at summer BBQ's in their garden. I think of Sunday afternoons in Victoria Park and our son Ewan pulling at James' finger because he knew that James would always play. I think of us laughing at how it almost sounded as though James was singing when he talked, with his cheerful intonation, and then us exaggerating it tenfold. I think of James' delight at a really good Sunday roast in the Star and Dove. I think of James' endless enthusiasm for telling us stories of his neices and nephew. I think of James and Sam. The ease of childhood friends and the many conversations that went over my head. I think of the infallible unit of Sarah and James. The Wedding. The love that had begun long before it. The iMate. I think of someone warm and gentle and immediately likeable. I think of James' laugh, hearty and infectious.