I would never describe myself as a romantic hero. So I am always surprised how much it amazes people that at the age of 63, I moved into a Hertfordshire care home to be with my wife, then 64, who had advanced dementia.
For four nights a week, for more than nine years, I lived with her inside the care system, while continuing to work part-time in London.
The why was easy: why ever would I not? My love for her was unchanged by her diagnosis. We were soulmates; no-one understood each other as well as we did. If Maggie was no
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