Memory is a funny thing.

I have noticed it playing more and more tricks with me lately.

I do remember all the important things.  I know my name and where I live.  I’m unlikely to forget those.  I know this is Tuesday and the year is 2013.  I know George Bush is the Merkan President, and that we just had an election about something.  My memory isn’t that bad.

It catches me up sometimes though.  I can greet the bloke in the fruit and veg shop by name and have long chats with him, but if I meet him in the street, I haven’t a fucking clue who he is.  I can watch a film in its entirety and only in the closing minutes realise I have seen it before, probably more than once.  I know Puppychild has a birthday on Thursday but don’t ask me how old she is.

My phone keeps bleeping at me because I have taken to jotting stuff into its calendar to remind me of things like birthdays and appointments so at least I have found some use for the fucking thing.  I can’t use it as a phone because I can never remember its number.

I went to make a mug of tea just now.

I got up, filled the kettle and put it on to boil.  For some reason it takes an age these days so I went for a piss while waiting.  Then I went out to the garage to fetch something.  When I came back from the garage the kettle had stopped boiling and had switched off.  Grand.  I went to fetch my mug and it wasn’t there.  I searched high and low for it and eventually found it – it was the beside the kettle, nicely filled with a tea-bag soaking in it.  Now either I had poured it, or else the dog has some remarkable hidden talents.  I’ll never know.

Now if only I could remember where I put my pipe……..