Most of my friends have lots of childhood memories.  Memories from being tiny, old pets, places they visited, school antics. They can reel story after story off of hilarious times they got into trouble, scrapes and adventures. I don’t really have them.  My mind doesn’t work on the details that are so significant to everyone else.  My mind works on shapes, music, colour, feelings.

Everyone can remember the name of their first teacher, or their favourite one.  I struggle to recollect any of their names, including the ones at senior school.  It wasn’t really that long ago since I was there.  Maybe its altzeimers thats doing it.  Youthful dementia, now that would be interesting.

I don’t remember when I first heard it, but if I listen to the Travelling Wilburys, I feel really young again.  I definatly know that it used to be played on a vinyl and that it was a tatty cover because I think I had gotten my hands on it when I was small, and had wrecked it.  It had a peeling ‘Our Price’ sticker in the corner.  It was something ludicrous like £3.99 and even then, Dad said vinyls were too expensive.

I remember a David Attenbourgh book that Dad kept on the shelf in the living room and I used to love.  It had a black cover and was peeling at the edges and along the spine.  I remember it smelling musty and old but it really wasnt. I remember there were lots of words in it but the photographs are what interested me the most.  The green frog on the cover used to captivate me, and the hypnotic photos of sea creatures looked spectacular, all lit up in flurescent colours against the pitch black,deep sea.  It was only later in life did I realise that the book wasn’t that great and that in reality, i’d decided to take multiple biros to the text and scribble on it when I used to thumb through it.

Dad once made a rug.  Thats right, actually made a rug.  I can hardly make a cup of tea without cocking that up.  I was small and remember not the pattern, but the colours.  It was maroon with brown and had bits of what I think was a white or cream colour mixed in.  Sounds fucking awful and i’m not a 100% sure that it was even acceptable in the 80’s.  This rug/carpet was massive and he used to curl it over while he was working on it and make a tunnel.  I remember one time sitting in it with Dad and thinking this would be forever my new favourite hiding place.  I don’t remember what I was wearing, what Dad said or how old he was.  I just remember thinking that the new hide-out was cool and I would live there forever.

I remember one Physics class.  Thats all.  I remember it because the context was the only thing I was good at.  I mean, really good at.  One of those times it just sinks in.  You dont have to study up about it but you just ‘get it.’  It was about the Solar System and I always wanted to go into something like that.  Sadly, my maths, physics and chemistry skills weren’t exactly top of the pops.  I wasn’t an academic and never excelled at subjects that didnt involve some creativity but I would give this a go! I remember putting my hand up to every question and left a blaze of gob smacked class mates in my wake.  I even beat Natalia and some other brainy dipshit who i cant remember, in answering questions relating to this topic.  There was another reason to hate me for making them look thick.  But sod them, what did they know, I was going to work for NASA some day.  The next day, I walked in proudly to my science room holding my head up high, thinking i’d turned a corner in lazy studying to find the subject matter had changed.  Needless to say, the proud and stunned teacher of yesterday, looked at me dissaprovingly when I couldnt answer a single question, and like every other teacher at the school, wondered how and why I was there in the first place.