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Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memory. Show all posts

Monday, 21 October 2013

Incapability

I keep losing things.

There’s no other way to say it. I keep losing stuff.

From house keys to my driving licence. From CD cases to entire pairs of shoes. BOTH SHOES AT ONCE!

How is that possible?

Are my shoes capable of independent thought and decided to run away from my smelly feet? I wouldn’t blame if they did. I’m glad they are as far away from my nose as they could be because they really do hum at times.

But my missing foot wear is not an isolated incident. On an almost daily basis any item I own can disappear without warning or notice.
But it’s not just the physical things that venture beyond my grasp. 

It’s now abstract things like thoughts and memories.

These past few weeks I have found myself trying to recall events that have occurred in my life. Fun things like parties and big life events like jobs and moving home and meeting people who I now consider to be loved ones.

Upon pointing my eyes upward in an effort to engage brain I receive natures equivalent of a 404 error and a giant invisible question mark appears just beyond my line of sight.

I know it’s there… I just can’t cant put my hands on it, much like passport or that spare USB cable I was saving for whatever it was I was going to do with it that I can no longer remember.

It’s awful.

I feel like I should visit the doctor to see if there is something actually wrong with me – but I am still 60-75% sure that Mrs H is just mucking around with me and keep moving things around.

I’m not the best at tidying up ( I am a man, it’s in my genes) but Mrs H can’t be plotting my down fall. I’m not insured.

In fact, a few yrars ago I was told by one of the big insurance companies that my lifestyle choices (???) meant that I was – and I quote – “UNINSURABLE”.

At the time I DO remember feeling quite proud that the fact I lived on a diet of custard creams and Guinness meant that none of the multi million pound life insurance companies would take the gamble that I would be alive long enough to cover the basic cover of a cheap funeral.

Jokes on you suckers, because I’m still here….. most of my things have done a runner – but I’m still kicking (and coughing and spluttering and wheezing) my way through life.

Having worked in the world of life insurance I knew a little of how it all worked and thought it would be interesting to find out how much cover I could get and as we have seen the answer came back as NONE!

On a side note – don’t bother with pensions, they are really rubbish and not worth the hassle.



Trust me – I could only handle pension calls when I was in the fuzzy place between… wait, what was I talking about……..


Monday, 15 April 2013

Monday and Memory


It’s Monday.

We all hate Mondays.

Mondays should really be Friday.

Bare with me on this.

Because everyone hates Monday but craves for the arrival of Friday it makes sense (to me anyway) to swap these two days around.

If the working week started with a Friday we could all go out on Friday night and have a drink with friends, maybe go out for a meal, but ultimately the first day of the working week would be a dress down day filled with the joy of having fun before the clock strikes midnight.

The end of the working week would also be a joy. Just because it is a Monday and you have been working hard (I assume you have at the very least made it LOOK like you have been working hard) you should be knackered and tired and fed up after spending 35+ hours with a bunch of smelly, lazy idiots who take the last pen from the stationary cupboard or have managed to get a date worth that sexy blond in accounts.

The end of the week should be like a Monday but under the new Bumferry Working Week, Monday is the best day. That’s because it is the end of the week and the weekend starts and who doesn’t like a weekend?

Nothing is quite this simple though.

In order to enjoy Friday which now the Monday and Monday which is now the new Friday, one concession has to be made.

The Weekend will no longer be called the weekend. Instead it will be called the Weekstart (that’s week start not weeks tart).

This will ensure that people don’t forget that I really shouldn’t be in charge but at least one person has called for me to be Prime minister and who am I to argue!

In the best political way these changes will make no difference to me as I work 7 days a week anyway and I don't see why anyone else should have a good time.

Oh yes, M is also for memory of which mine is simply rubbish as I forgot to write this last night and have had to rush out this pile of tripe for your eyes to roll over.