A forgotten title
I have said before how I like the age I am.
Getting old has so many good points that I would be hard pressed to mention them all. Probably the best one is the ability to get away with just about anything. No matter what I say or do, people just look at each other and make some pitying remark about the sad old codger. The fact that I say and do those things deliberately is just part of the fun.
There is one aspect of aging that is genuinely pissing me off though.
The fucking memory has gone to the dogs altogether. I have heard of this phenomenon before and I didn’t really believe it, but it really is true that I couldn’t tell you what I had for breakfast but can remember the smallest details about things that happened years ago.
Most of the time, I get by by writing little notes to myself. There are little scraps of paper all over the house usually with telephone numbers on them and I can’t remember who the numbers belong to. Other scraps of paper have shopping lists on them where I have gone down to the village and bought everything on the list, only to go back down again later for something I had forgotten to write on the list, and hadn’t remembered when I was down there.
Another one that is always catching me out is the central heating. We have a strange looking yoke in the kitchen that looks like a wood burner, but in fact runs on kerosene. It is a great yoke and heats the whole house. The problem with it is that to fire it up, I have to open the oil tap and wait for a couple of minutes before chucking a match in. But I always forget and half an hour later, Herself will come in from the garden and ask why the heating isn’t on. By that time of course the fucking yoke has flooded and is very difficult to light. Take it from me, but a lake of kerosene is a lot harder to light than a small puddle. And it stinks the house out after.
Of course I get a load of exercise around the house, as I am forever going into a room and then forgetting why. That means I have to retrace my steps to see if I can remember why I wanted to go into that room in the first place.
The other great source of healthy exercise is my pipe. I am forever putting it down somewhere and then forgetting where. This means an extensive trek around the garden, the sheds, the garage and every room in the fucking house.
Who says smoking is bad for your health?
My forgetter is working overtime.
But I have found an aid to remind me if I have to do something after a certain time. I use a cooking timer.
Superb, the bell rings after the required time.
The big problem is that often I have forgotten why it was that I set the bloody thing !
Here is a little poem for you.
http://calltodecision.com/mrib.htm
I had a relevant and quite witty response, but I have forgotten what it was.
AG [Otherwise known as the Great Pretender??] – I use my mobile phone. It’s one of those fancy ones that can be used as an alarm clock as well as a phone. Trouble is that the fucking thing beeps at me nearly every hour. Sometimes it’s quieter to forget?
Thanks for the poem! Brilliant! And thanks for raising the tone of the site slightly with a drop of culture.
Jim C – Do I know you?
A fellow goes into the doctors for a check-up. The doctor does all the business and says to the patient ” I’m sorry to have to tell you that you have Alzheimers . The patient is shocked, but after a few moments he brightens up, looks at the doctor and says ” ah well, at least I don’t have Alzheimers”.
Hiya Paulo1. You haven’t been around for ages? Or have you been and I have forgotten?
You think you’ve got problems? Try learning Greek at our age!!
Love the poem AG.
I thought I was reading the FF manifesto though!
Wife goes to the doctor’s. Doc says to her husband. “She has either Alzheimers or aids.” “How will I know” he says. Doc says “I don’t know but if she finds her way home dont fuck her.”