Wednesday, February 16, 2011

I came here for something...

(I nicked the photo from here)

"Is that what I wrote?"
"Yes. It was. It was very lovely."
"Bugger. I should be remembering this stuff, it is all very important. I feel a tit."
"You've a lot on your mind. It's probably hormonal."
It comes to something when you can't remember even the smallest gist of something of intense personal relevance you wrote not a week ago. Indeed, it is more than even faintly embarrassing to have to be reminded by the muse herself of the content of the brief missive she had inspired. This is very worrying, especially when, not two hours earlier, I had recounted to the ex, and in tiny detail, an episode regarding the purchase of some clothing at a jumble sale 9 years ago, even the exact price of the item and how much we managed to flog it for on ebay (10p and £38, if you must know and it was bought at a jumble sale in Bedford St, near the Scout shop. We got there early and had to queue outside, like tramps outside MacDonalds at closing time. See?)

Last week at the self-serve checkout I had to go through the alphabetical pictures of the fruit and veg to try and remember what the sodding hell the large shiny black thing I was holding was called. Luckily aubergine begins with an A and I didn't have to suffer the indignity of asking someone for confirmation and then having to be guided to a chair and asking whether there was anyone she could call, dear.

Of course I'm worried. My memory has always been a bit of a source of pride and occasionally even good-natured ribbing. It is the repository of all kinds of useless shite that occasionally comes in handy, especially when people you think you haven't been listening. It's a bit of a shame it was never that good at storing the stuff that was deemed important at school but that could probably be put down to the fact that I almost certainly wasn't listening and may even have been asleep. I will make an appointment, if I remember.

Elsewhere: End of an era? Like Hell. Expect occasional added harridan.

11 Vegetable peelings:

Anonymous The Ex said...

Erm.... you might not like to hear this but it wasn't the Scout hut on Bedford St. It was St Barnabas' Church Hall on West Street. I remember it clearly. Sorry.

12:34 am  
Blogger Vicus Scurra said...

And it was £38.25, and the straps hurt like buggery.

7:38 am  
Blogger Rog said...

It was a weird colour wasn't it? Aubergine with plum stripes?

8:10 am  
Blogger Dave said...

I can't remember how this post started.

8:30 am  
Blogger Zed said...

I really can't remember what on earth you were on about. You've never seen me at a jumble sale - have you?

12:13 pm  
Blogger Richard said...

Ex - Definitely was Bedford St. It all came flooding back as I drove along it last night

Vicus - Ask your cousin for a refund or sell it back. Pls to dry-clean first.

Rog - Close, it was blue velvet.

Dave - Neither can I

Zed - Not yet.

3:13 pm  
Anonymous The Ex said...

Nope. Definitely not. I remember clearly that we found very little at Bedford Street whereas at St Barnabas' we found loads, including the blue velvet dress. It was on a table on the left hand side of the hall. I've thought of it many, many times when I've driven past there. I was going to correct you when you mentioned it here, but decided not to as it wasn't important to your story (about the house). When you wrote it here though.....

10:39 am  
Blogger Richard said...

You are challenging my memory? Hmm. Sure it wasn't Wistaston?

10:56 am  
Anonymous The Ex said...

LOL. No.

I know your memory's usually better than mine, but this time I really know I'm right :)

2:39 pm  
Anonymous Clairious Miss said...

sounds normal to me...well, either that or I need an appointment also. my memory certainly used to be much sharper and I am not old...hmmm...

9:28 pm  
Blogger Debster said...

Took me five minutes to remember the name of Echo and the Bunnymen yesterday.

9:50 am  

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