I'm not the man I was

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Did you know, Anna, that every cell in your body has died and been replaced many times? Amazing, isn’t it? So I’ve got nothing I started out with. No original equipment - just replacement parts.

But what about my memories? How come I still have those? Some of my memories are from when I was five. Surely there is some kind of core; the inner Me. But is there? And if there is – what exactly is it?

I’ve had 2 unopened e mails in my in-box for weeks. They’re from her. I don’t want to open them because I don’t want to know what she has to say. And yet I can’t bring myself to delete them. Instead, yesterday I created a new folder: ‘Unopened’ – and moved them into it.  (I thought of calling it ‘twat’ but that seemed rather vulgar.)

So, Anna, I am – once again – shelving things. I’m good at that. In fact, if Shelving were an event in the Olympic Games I would certainly be in Team GB.
I would also be up among the favourites for the 100 metre Dawdle - but that’s another story.

Yesterday I had a cheese-and-ham “toastie” in a café. It was one of those in a sealed packet. You select it and hand it to the girl behind the counter and she heats it up. How do they slice ham so thin? The company that makes the sandwiches (they are all bought in) must have a special machine - probably computerised. The ham had no taste in it… neither did the rest of the sandwich, come to think of it.

Not like in my youth: when I was a lad there was an old-fashioned grocers in the village. In summer they always had the door open and I used to look in on my way to school. There was fresh sawdust on the floor,  and a big ginger-tom, sitting on the bacon counter. The ham you got there… you could sole your shoes with it.

As an “only child”, I was often lonely. I’ve heard it said that the “only child” will very often have an imaginary friend. I didn’t have an imaginary friend. I think I was afraid to in case he went away – or died. I’ve always been afraid of losing people. The psychologists say that if you are afraid of losing people you avoid getting close to anyone. Strangely, I have not found this to be true in my case. What do you think, Anna?

As I was walking across the car park, a lady, sitting in her car with the window open, called to me: some remark about the weather. But when I stopped to exchange pleasantries she gave me the story of her life, in fifteen minutes. She was lovely, though. Said she was fifty-five but looked twenty years younger. Slim, blonde, green eyes – she seemed as if she needed someone to talk to. Well don’t we all, at some time or other. And often those closest to us are the ones we find it most difficult to talk to. So maybe she needed a stranger – and I came along at the right time. I liked her. I shall probably never see her again – but I wish her all the best.

I hear what you say about homo sapiens evolving self- consciousness and I think Dave is probably right - despite the smelly feet. (Actually I have some excellent purple ointment which, although not primarily intended for use on the lower extremities would, I am sure, help in this matter).

I applaud your robust attitude toward the selfish-gene, and your positive outlook on life generally. That is what I find so attractive about you: your optimism and zest for life – plus, of course, your body. You must look after it – under or over the sheets.

Things have taken a turn for the worse chez moi, Anna. I won’t bore you with the details – they bore me.
I am in a fix, and no mistake. Sill it’s probably not yet time to go out and buy a cardigan, with pockets.


Yours

  George.