The forgotten years

When I was 18, going through that Kerouac phase (you know, the one you should grow out of by the time you're 19), I liked the idea he had of himself as "the memory babe" - the one who remembers everything and writes it down, for the others who are too drunk and stoned at the time. When I was 18, 19, I thought that I would indeed remember everything.

It's not that I've addled my brain with drugs and alcohol - because I just haven't - but although my memory is still very strong, your head does fill up, doesn't it? And in filling up, it pushes other stuff out.

There are whole periods of my life now that I don't remember much about. Roy was talking about something that was on telly once the other day, and I realised it must have been in one of the periods of my life when I didn't have a telly. And you'd think that, instead of remembering telly programmes, you'd have other memories instead, but I don't.

I got a PIN number through the post. I've changed it since, but I always look at the PIN, as sent, and wonder if I'll be able to remember it, and live with it. The second half was easy, because it's the year my wife was born. The first half, was 85. And I thought, hmmm, 1985 - what happened then that I would remember it easily?

I got nothin'. 1985? Might as well not have happened. Didn't go anywhere, do anything, don't remember anything. Was I content? Don't know. Am I blanking out crashing boredom? Don't know. 1986 is pretty much the same. I can remember a couple of things about '83 and '84, but not much. '87 has some strong images, but 1988 is another lost year.

I've lost about half a decade, there. I don't even want to think about the 70s.