My Memory

My memory is pants. It's not even good pants, like cool jockey shorts or sexy thongs. It's a grubby pair of two week old stained y-fronts.

I can forget something in a second. I'm so effective at forgetting stuff it's almost a superpower.

For example: I often pick my man Scotty up on my way to work. In order to do this I have to turn off at a certain roundabout. About 50% of the time, despite leaving early, especially to collect him, I forget to turn at the crucial moment, meaning that I have to drive an extra mile or so before I can turn round.

Once I had lunch plans with a friend. She phoned me about 10 minutes before to make sure I had remembered. 12 o'clock came and I wandered down to the canteen, bought my lunch and wandered back up again 15 minutes later to find her waiting by my desk looking slightly pissed off. I had to give my lunch away.

It's a bloody miracle that I remember my meetings at work. And I don't always!

If I don't leave my laptop by the front door, I'll forget it on my way out to work. Packed lunches are a real problem as they have to sit in the fridge overnight. In order to remember to take it with me, I have to spot it in the fridge, make a connection in my brain so I know what it is and, crucially, put it by the front door.

Even if I get it to work, it's touch and go as to whether I'll remember I have it with me. As often as not, I'll just go and buy a baked potato from the canteen.

I'm rubbish.

Recently, I went to the doctor about my awful memory. He took a scan. This is what the scan looked like:


Finally, I wrote this while waiting for Dr K's tea to brew. Obviously I forgot about it. Hopefully she won't notice that it's a bit stewed.