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……..