The Scrivener: An Airedale Starting With B
…Being a few years past three-score-and-ten, one tends to worry a bit about absent-mindedness. It's a relief to know that other people, often much younger, have the same problem. You know the sort of thing. You are busy at the computer, engrossed in your work, when you decide to go to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Off you go, still deep in thought, and find yourself standing in the middle of a bedroom, wondering why you came there…
But it isn’t only those of senior years who are absent-minded, as Brian Barratt reveals.
It is the good fortune for all Open Writing readers that Brian never forgets how to write a brilliant column which is guaranteed to bring a contented smile of appreciation. To read more of his words please click on http://www.openwriting.com/archives/the_scrivener/
And do visit his invigorating Web site www.alphalink.com.au/~umbidas/
The other day, there was a talk on the wireless about people who can remember faces. Not just a few faces, but pretty well everyone they have met. They might have had a conversation with a stranger just a week ago, or encountered someone in a shop nearly ten years ago— they have an uncanny ability to recognise the face.
In the late 1950s, my boss had that ability. He had previously been the Principal of a training college for school-teachers, with many students passing through his care. A customer would walk into the shop and my boss would take one look and announce something like, "Ah yes, Simon Muzorewa, 1946". He remembered not only the face but also the name and when they attended the college.
Alas, some of us are not blessed with that gift. At educational conferences, people would walk up to me with a merry "Hello Brian" and I had no idea what that person's name was. How embarrassing. As soon as I knew the name and where I had previously met them, all was well — I needed a visual context in which to place the person, be it a classroom, staff-room or school library. Perhaps it's something to do with the holistic right brain being more active than the logical left brain.
Being a few years past three-score-and-ten, one tends to worry a bit about absent-mindedness. It's a relief to know that other people, often much younger, have the same problem. You know the sort of thing. You are busy at the computer, engrossed in your work, when you decide to go to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. Off you go, still deep in thought, and find yourself standing in the middle of a bedroom, wondering why you came there.
Or you get to the kitchen, put a teaspoonful of instant coffee into a mug, switch the kettle on, and wait for the water to boil, while trying to remember the names of the now unused letters in the Anglo-Saxon alphabet. You pour the hot water into the mug and only then notice that it still contains a used tea-bag from a cup of tea you had earlier.
Preoccupation isn't the only contributor. Some of us are chatterers. We strike up conversations with anybody, almost everybody. If a friendly lady at the supermarket checkout isn't busy, she might have time for a bit of a chat, and that is always a pleasure. When a queue starts forming behind you, it's time go to. Then someone comes running after you, calling out. You left one of your green canvas shopping bags on the counter.
Chats with neighbours about what was on telly last night are a goldmine of forgotten names.
"That woman who played the leading role, what's her name? She was in that film about, oh, what was it?"
"Amanda Redman. In the series about the retired policemen who solve old crimes."
"No, not her. The period drama where she fell in love with the tall chap played by, oh, what's his name?"
And so it goes on. Especially in the years beyond three-score-and-ten.
One of my neighbours and I sometimes sit in the old plastic chairs on his sunny back deck and compare notes on dogs. We like dogs. He was telling me about one he'd seen on TV. It had a rough coat and a pointed nose, he said. What was it? The name of the breed started with B, he said. So we worked our way through the breeds: basenji, no; basset, no; beagle, no; borzoi, no; and so on. It didn't really matter, so we changed the subject.
A few hours later, when I was back home, he phoned me. "It was an Airedale." Oh, we had a good laugh about his Airedale with a B (and a pointed nose). Better to laugh it off than to worry about it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must waddle to the kitchen so that I can, er ... what was it? I'll remember when I get there. Perhaps.
© Copyright Brian Barratt 2009
