Before I lose it all

I recently heard about a news story (well, I say “news”) explaining we start losing our memory at an increasing rate as we get older. Typically I can’t now find the reference – and as I am approaching the magic age of 47, which I think was the critical moment at which my brain will finally collapse in a heap, I decided that it was probably time to start recording memories before I am too old to do more than dribble and gaze about blankly. Although that does sound like fun too.

I have been trying to build my family tree for a long time – over 20 years in fact – and have often regretted not being able to speak to older family members. To be fair, the ones I did speak to told me complete fantasies, or refused to discuss anything to do with the past, so my experiences were not generally positive. However, I think I would like to set down some of my own memories, which sound increasingly bizarre as the years go by. Obviously life was simpler, sunnier and better in my youth – largely because my parents had all the stress.

But whatever it was really like, that’s my mandate here. Try to remember what it was like growing up in a suburb west of London in the 1960s and 1970s. The music, TV, games, school rituals, parental concerns, food, fasion, buses, homes and holidays. Whatever crosses my mind.


Go on then, it's your turn

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