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UK Memory Lane. Fifty year old diary of a London kid in the sixties
Recently discovered 50 year old diary of a 14 year old kid in the sixties
Monday 25th March 1968
I went on first dinner today so I could have longer at gym club. After dinner I went home and got my shorts. I wore my new nylon shirt as well.
Nut didn’t come to the office today because he had something wrong with his knee.
In the evening Tanks and I had great fun round the club with…
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October 5th and 6th 2018
Today was a good day
Babe you made my day
A Pool of Memories
We’ll keep names out of this for now, as I would like to remain as anonymous as possible with this, but let me tell you what this blog will be about.
I was born in 1992, so currently I am 25 years of age. 25. Wow. I’m letting that sink in for a second as I often do when I find that I cannot believe I have lived so long and so much of my life already. I have a friend who likes to call it “the quarter century club” or maybe that’s just what people call being this age. As if we all got to live 100 years. yeah right. as if most of us didn’t die much, much, much earlier than that. It’s really more of the 33% of the way through club, if you want to get a little more realistic. And that’s optimistic. So, assuming that my optimism pays off and that I live up to the ripe old age of 75, that would mean that presently I have lived a third of my life. Hm, I’m not sure if I should be pleased with what I have lived so far, or if I really ought to make my life richer...
You know, for the quarter of a lifetime that I have been living on this planet, sometimes it seems as though there are too many repetitive days, not enough new memories. And other days it seems like there are far too many memories, my brain unable to capture every single last detail of each and everyone of them, and thus turning the memory of the event into little more than a nostalgic feeling for a fleeting sensation which, in the moments lived might have seemed infinite, eternal, but now as I try and recall those feelings more specifically and what caused them, it’s as if the tape is in my hands but it leaves me as I try to look into the tiny frames of the film that is my life.
This is why I am starting this blog. What is a person but a collection of memories? Even our persona, this walking, breathing human being which people know and recognize everyday and which knows things about itself operates purely out of memory. Everything we know about ourselves, where we’re from, what we’re like, our height and weight, and eye color and handwriting, every little thing we know about ourselves, we know, because we remember. So, in order to prevent my memories to keep escaping me and from becoming mere static in the ever growing pool of memories that is my brain, I want to share with you, and with myself as I try to recollect in detail the events which I will write about, bits and pieces of my life, some significant, others just because, so that in the event that my life turns out to be just another series of mistakes and fizzled dreams with no impact whatsoever on the rest of my brethren, at the very least there will be a record, a piece of evidence, proof, that I too existed, that I too lived, that I too felt and that I too was here when everything happened during the years that I was alive. Welcome.
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