When I was young, my family lived, not exactly in fear, but definitely in a state of mild trepidation, that some unsuspecting person would mention something that sent our Dad down Memory Lane, wandering through his timber hauling years, the war and a deprived but eventful childhood. He could joyfully tell a story a million times, telling him you’d heard it before did not stop him. Once started, he would finish. Sadly after years of switching off, I can’t remember the details of his stories.
A generation on and he is now me. I am the anecdote replayer. I wish I could remember who I’d told what. When I tell people stuff these days, they might even say that they’ve read it in my blog, with an unspoken, so shut up.
I have come to the conclusion that repeat memorying is yet another indicator of advancing years. Having clocked up decades of memories, it seems wasteful, rude even, not to replay them when they are brought to mind.
Tough as it is being on the receiving end, you young folks out there can perhaps take some solace in the fact that it’ll be your turn sooner than you think.
Do you remember the 2020/21 lockdowns of our youth? Followed by multiple anecdotes of how you kept calm, became agoraphobic and got fat.
Alternatively you might decide to end it all now if becoming a waffling old bugger is inevitable.
However, I give these words of encouragement to you all: old age looks worse from a distance, up close its not that bad, give or take some aches and pains, and necessary early nights, and the past from a distance is fabulous.
Win win.
fat tart 