It was Ann who voiced concern – one which had, to an extent, troubled me for some time, but slothful procrastinator that I am, and have always been, I had taken no action. My wife, however – and thank heavens – is the opposite; with her to think is to act.

A gent we knew quite well had recently died and whilst he had left his widow reasonably provided for in financial terms, he had left his documentation in a shambolic mess. Worst of all, for some inexplicable reason, neither of them had made wills, leaving their family with many unnecessary legal minefields to negotiate.

They are not alone in this, for apparently a very sizeable minority in our country, many approaching, or having arrived at, old age do not make a will. This, clearly, is a major bonus for lawyers as their assistance in winding up the estates of the intestate will be vastly more vital, and expensive, when compared to settling the affairs of those who have stated their desires and instructions in the legal form of a last will and testament.

Now, we have made wills, but a long time ago, and Ann voiced concerns that she was not sure which of our many document-containing drawers housed these crucial papers. To compound matters she then added: ‘The deeds to the house... I don’t know where they are either.’ The blank look on my face told Ann everything she needed to know. ‘What if we were both suddenly killed in a car crash?’ she asked. ‘Would you want the boys to have to deal with this mess too?’ Now, casting aside the unlikeliness of this scenario as we tend to average but a dozen miles a week in the motor (and those at a snail’s pace), the point was well made and so our search began.

The problem was – and is – that both of us have always been nervous when it comes to jettisoning anything which appears vaguely legal or official; thus it is many a long day since we had a cull of contents of these multitudinous, crammed drawers.

The marathon hunt soon saw recycling boxes being filled with abandon; insurance policies that had expired years back – often along with their companies – thudded into the green bins along with warranties for double glazing which had long since ceased to have any relevance. Manuals for cookers, fridges, toasters and so forth which had gone to the tip often decades previously spilled from their hiding places, along with documents for cars which had ended up in a crusher when I still had my own hair. Holiday brochures came to light advertising alluring breaks at very reasonable prices – the trouble was they were all 20-plus years old.

Ancient local newspapers appeared; with some it was clear why we kept them as they involved a family member, but several appeared to have no connection with either the two of us or our progeny.

There was an expired ‘Den Plan’ contract from when – so many years ago – I actually had teeth worth preserving. The removal of this, though, proved to be a bonus. For underneath it there was an envelope containing the premium bonds we had taken out some 30 years ago. ‘ERNIE’ never having favoured us with a cheque, we had forgotten about them. Whilst the amount involved was not exactly life changing, discovering such was, as the saying goes, ‘better than a smack in the head’.

After a few days of this prodigious mental and physical toil we suspected that a skip might well be required as our excellent weekly bin collectors would have to hire another truck and employ extra staff if they were to move all we were putting out for them.

The contents of a couple of large drawers were thrown out almost in their entirety. They contained car, gas, electric, council tax bills and statements going back decades; indeed, there were phone demands which might well have been signed by Alexander Graham Bell himself.

The next locker down needed no sorting out, its contents being almost holy writ – assorted programmes and memorabilia regarding Plymouth Argyle, much of it going back to my youth. That will remain where it is to be passed on to my sons when I shuffle off – whether they want it or not.

It’s a while since I delved into the green-hued conglomeration, so I thrust my hand down into the shambolic heap to see what I could find; then came the ‘eureka’ moment. Beneath the relatively flimsy Pilgrim propaganda I could feel something substantial. I pulled it out – the deeds; and beneath that – hallelujah – the will.

How both had got into that drawer is a mystery – but assuredly the Pilgrims had defended them far better than they ever protect their goal. Our sorting out was suspended with immediate effect. It will re-commence when the spirit moves – as far as I am concerned, well to the future.