The Tin Drummer

Holiday


No more posts for a week or so, as I am on holiday in France for a bit. I have bought The Murder of Roger Ackroyd so I can see if Christie got it wrong or not. I've also bought Houellebecq's The Possibility of an Island, so I will need to remember the Rennies as well.

Interesting programme on Radio 4 this morning about memory. They have asked people to write to the bbc website with their memories. They also suggested that in people with depression, it becomes pyhsically (or should that be neurologically) harder to remember the good times, while the bad times are much easier to recall. Someone also pointed out that people with depression find it harder to remember specific instances of being happy. I find great swathes of my life hard to recall: I cannot remember my routines at school; what it was really like sitting in my room at college writing essays all day; actually being seven; but I do remember things as feelings (mainly fear), colours even, or through dreams. I can remember quite a few dreams from my childhood. I can't remember my grandfather's face very well, though he is often in my dreams, and I can't remember what Chartres really looks like (but I do remember how I felt when I first stepped inside). More and more I find I'm here but not quite sure how I got here.