I remember you-oooooooo

What is your first memory? The first thing that I can recall is the instant, when I was two years old, that I realised I had just started falling down the stairs. I have an almost photographic image of looking down the darkened stairs, with closed doors in the hall at the bottom, but light and music pouring from a room behind me and to my left. The only reason I know that I was two years old at the time is because, when I have drawn a picture of my memory, my parents recognised the plan of our quarter in Munster (should have an umlaut over the ‘u’ but I don’t know how to do that) which we left before my third birthday.

Memory is a peculiar thing. Why is it that I can recall our telephone number from when I was eight (Winterbourne Gunner 439) or our car registration number of the same vintage (TYY 85) yet I have no idea of today’s date? Perhaps I’ve reached that ‘certain age’ where I can remember useless rubbish (an elephant is the only animal to have four knees) but anything important (dental appointment) flies right out of my mind. Today, having made a pot of tea and poured cups for Ned and myself and taken his upstairs to wake him, I came downstairs to discover I hadn’t a clue where I’d left mine. It was eventually run to ground by the front door. I have no idea why I put it there.

Thank heavens I’m not blonde as well as senior.