Drinking tea (watered down and sugary) with my sister, in the garden of the house in which I was born. I remember.
Or, is it the grainy, slightly out of focus 8mm film. Does that ancient cine footage (not even super 8) play tricks on my mind. Does that footage exist? I now can’t find it.
I have long ago memories.
I remember reporting of JFK’s shooting. And, Lee Harvey Oswald gunned down by Jack Ruby. Perhaps the power of suggestion, the weight of my generation’s subconscious that makes me think I remember.
But, I am sure that I remember players standing in a minute’s silence, black armbands, on the Saturday after that November day. It was Top Field, Hitchin. With my dad. We always sat in the main stand.
Then again, it could have been two years later when Winston Churchill died.
Memories. The mind can play tricks. I read the other day about a woman who could remember in great details events from every part of her life. It drove her mad.
We must forget. Otherwise our mind cannot cope, process all that data. Overflow.
Beetroot for lunch. Nursery school. Or, was it primary school. I remember the smell. I still hate beetroot.
Was it tea? I never drank tea until I was about 20.
Maybe it was coffee.