A boy and his toys.

Ask any child what their favourite toy was, and i’m sure they will produce a list a mile long.  I’m no different.    Like most children, my toys would transport me into totally different worlds; even to this day I marvel at the human mind’s ability to create a whole environment, holodeck style, invisible to all but the young boy clasping the toy in his hand; how a small piece of plastic or metal can trigger such wonderful fantasies…

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My earliest memories.

Hiding in a large cardboard box with a few hundred or maybe thousand photos in it,  there is a photo of a young boy holding two bottles of beer.


I can remember that quite clearly, at Uncle Bert’s a friend of Dad’s from work.  On this particular occasion Dad and Bert had a drink in the parlour and I was sent to fetch them two bottles, which I collected from a wicker shopping basket outside in the hall.

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Forty Two.

I find myself tonight struggling with the meaning of life, the universe and everything.

Well, perhaps not everything.  I’ve just read something that started some sort of sub-conscious echo – no, that’s not it – a resonance.  A similar feeling of futility maybe, but on a different level, in a different thread of life. Continue reading