Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Saturday, 8 April 2017
Your first memories
Our anual battle with clothes moths has just begun, and I have bought 20 strips of pheremone male-killer from eBay. I think that the little bastards are arriving earlier each year. I remember them only beginning to become a threat in late Summer/Autumn.
Leaning out of the window yesterday, I was caught out by the transitional change in weather marking the beginning of Spring proper, and for a moment I imagined the pale warmth and rising street-scents to be the other side of the year when I start to look forward to hunts for mushrooms in the woods. I have the whole Summer to look forward to first.
Sometimes I sit on the sofa here and allow myself to drift in and out of sleep for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of the street outside and allowing them to transport me to other times, other places and other seasons. I love it when that happens and it is strange how living so much in the moment can take you out of your surroundings so completely. I find myself missing things which I have never experienced or wanting to experience things which I will never know again.
I only have to look at a bed of crocii (crocusses?) to be taken back to early childhood birthdays, when I had so many more to look forward to. This works every time for me.
Then from the crocii I go first to the smell of the 'Davy Crockett' rubber powder horn I was given as a 5th, 6th or 7th birthday present, then to the actual thing itself - complete with a squeaker in the narrow end... a strange thing to give to a child.
The remembrance of the black, cord binding on the handle of a cricket bat - clogged with tiny amounts of dried sweat and skin - produces a scent in my imagination which (as far as I know) has never been smelled by anyone else in the world and never will be. Impossible to describe for the above reasons.
My earliest memory is of lying on my back in a large, old-fashioned pram, staring up at a string of plastic rattle toys on the meridian of my vision. Many years later as an adult, I checked with my mother that my pram did indeed have these rattles on elastic string, and she confirmed that it did.
Ok. Here we go. What was your first memory? (You can see where I am going with this, eh?)