MY memory is going.
Or at least I think it is.
This piece of my column was to be about something other than me forgetting things.
But I genuinely forgot what it was going to be about.
I was talking about something last week and said “I’ll put that in my column.”
Editor Roy Wright, in his infinite wisdom, told me to write it down otherwise I’d forget.
Pah, I told him. My mind is like a steel trap.
But now it seems the rust has set in.
I’ve always liked lists but I think I’m going to have to use them as a way of life rather than an aide memoire.
The upside of this is the comforting conformity of a list.
It’s black and white – unless you use red pen to score through your ‘done’ tasks.
There’s nothing that can go wrong.
Write list. Do thing. Cross it off.
But if my memory fails me in the compilation of the list, will I ever remember what I’ve forgotten that was supposed to stop me forgetting the thing I forgot in the first place?
Let’s hope Santa doesn’t have these problems with his list.
He’ll be on a beach in the Maldives in July, beard unfurled over his bulging tummy.
Suddenly he’ll jump up, knocking over his long iced drink and shout at Mrs Claus: “Aarrgh, I forgot Canada.”
Can you imagine the trouble?
Forget the list idea then. I think I’m better off forgetting stuff and not remembering it rather than remembering and having guilt for forgetting.
Now what was I saying?