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Since my first visit in 1988, Thailand has been a great love. It didn’t put me off when my boyfriend got typhoid from a prawn and was raced, shivering and yellow, to the old Fairfield Infectious Diseases Hospital (or later, in Koh Samui, when he called time on our marriage.)

When we went back in August, the holiday had never been needed more. Since it was booked in 2019, there were not just lockdowns but a major mental wobble caused by working for the wrong people, moving house to a place where we knew nobody and starting a business from scratch.

Thailand has been a great love since my first visit in 1988. Credit: iStock

So after a boat dropped us at a remote national park island, the plan was to just lie down on the beach, and to swim. The sand was like sugar. The sea was aquamarine. After two years of no tourists, the place looked photoshopped. It was that beautiful.

Yet I found myself abandoning my towel and hiking alone, at 55 and in a bikini and thongs, to a jungle cave up a hill so steep the only way up was by hauling on ropes. The exercise suited my type A competitive streak but it was pretty funny to be so underdressed for the challenge. Stumping along to the cave, a question was thrown up: are we ever really ready for anything? Should we just jump into stuff and trust we have the grit to pull it off?

War weary these days, I reckon it’s fine to have basic props organised (proper runners, new book, beloved dog) but when it comes to the big things – birth, death, marriage – nothing can prepare you for the reality.

We can prepare for some things in life but nothing can prepare you for having a baby. Credit: iStock

Prospective parents out there, you will never be ready to have a baby. There will never be enough time, money, career experience, mortgage equity. Good for you if you’re trying to get ahead of that but you can never be prepared for the cartoon anvil wave of love and fear that hits when you make a human. Best to just do it then work out what you need to know. Trust me.

Marriage – same. You and your partner will change constantly. The old maxim is true: marriage is like a fish – often struggling for oxygen but able to survive in the deepest of water. Beware flashy hooks.

Death is the most impossible of all to prepare for even though we’re all raised with the intellectual knowledge it will happen. This weekend it’s a year since my brother-in-law John left so suddenly on a Saturday morning. A year that has gone by in a flash and also felt endless.

Of course, my husband was unprepared for the loss of his brother. Staggered by it. He tried to find clarity in fuzziness. Empty bottles piled up. Silences got longer. We cupped faces, sobbing, at Tullamarine before he spent three weeks in a Sydney hospital. His grief at not having John was one thing but his regret at saying no to pub and footy invitations was worse – the irreversible reality of not having grabbed the moment.

John’s wife Maria visited, bringing her natural optimism, unnatural strength and a shoebox. It belonged to my father-in-law Bryan then was inherited by John. Both men died on the same day eight years apart and both also shared a particular passion.

John Ogge with his wife Maria.

Inside the box: a tangle of watches Bryan and John collected. A ’70s silver Omega DeVille. A relative’s inscribed Rolex: “Mary, from Mother. 20th May 1926.” A fat gold piece Chris’ lawyer grandfather wore daily. Mementoes of men who knew the value of time but ran out of it.

My friends Helen and Stef Clark come for lunch. Their daughter and sister Sara Chivers, 34, died in 2018 of a brain tumour, months before her son Alfie, 2, also died, unthinkably, of the same disease. We talk about the precious lost pair. “I’m glad we got to say goodbye but the void lasts forever,” says Helen. “In a lot of ways Sara taught us how to live. It has to be for now.”