AND FINALLY Goodbye to summer and old friends . . .

IT HAPPENS twice yearly — the ritual of dragging the bags from under the bed to swap the clothes in my wardrobe, summer to winter and back.

I just got round to the chore — packing away the silk dress I bought for my favourite niece’s wedding in 2002 and wore to another union this summer. Some of these garments are old mates: ‘Bye, pink linen skirt, see you in the spring! I didn’t wear you once this summer, Indian dress (but I’m sure I will next year. )

Away with the delicate cardis; out with the chunky ones. So it goes . . . as the seasons turn and I become a year older.

This time, it was more melancholy than usual as I put away pastel jeans and took out the cords, because I’d just heard the sad news that another friend had died of cancer — on nearly the same day that we lost lovely Sue, three years ago.

Both women were born in 1946, like me; both were present when Robin and I married ten years ago.

When a friend dies you want to raise your fist to the sky and shout, ‘Too soon!’ — and yet life isn’t a parking meter into which we pay for allotted time, is it? Accepting providence, you can only vow to cherish your days to the full — for the sake of those you loved who no longer have that privilege.

Last October, for my 70th, our chum Big Al the Biker gave me a simple present: a photo in a frame.

It shows him and Sue and my husband Robin and I, sitting in our leathers on the grass on a summer’s day, our motorcycles parked behind. He said it was a reminder to me to seize the time.

And now that picture stands on the windowsill right next to my desk, doing its job.

So as I unpack velvets, woollens, thick leggings to tuck into boots, I remember Sue and Victoria, their conversation and warmth on winter evenings when candles flickered and wine glowed ruby-red. And I’m grateful.

Bel answers readers’ questions on emotional and relationship problems each week. Write to Bel Mooney, Scottish Daily Mail, 20 Waterloo Street, Glasgow G2 6DB, or email bel.mooney@dailymail.co.uk. A pseudonym will be used if you wish. Bel reads all letters but regrets she cannot enter into personal correspondence.