At the start of 1963 my parents were twenty-seven years old. I was six and my sister, Marianne, was three. And we were homeless. 1963 marks the beginning of my contiguous memory. I woke up one January morning with the startled realisation that I exist. There are a few scattered, isolated memories from before this … Continue reading 1963
About 18 months ago, I heard a song on the radio which reminded me of a particular day in 1967. It was the day in which my family went to Dunstable Downs for a picnic, followed by a visit to Whipsnade Zoo. There's nothing unusual about that. Except, on this occasion, the song penetrated my … Continue reading The Reason for this Blog
Dad hated his brother, Uncle John. The reason for this hatred was never revealed to us in any coherent form. In fact it was unwise to even ask about the matter. It was as if the entire subject lay behind an industrial-sized red pushbutton labelled "DO NOT PRESS". This was quite normal as far as … Continue reading Dad’s Family
I'm guessing that someone who is at ease with delivering malignant language also has the facility for forgetting about it. Unhappily, the listener doesn't have that luxury. All of the following has been remembered with exquisite clarity: Dad's quotes: “What’s all this rubbish about committing suicide?” In First suicide attempt “If you really … Continue reading Glossary of Quotes
