This will be a chronological list of things I have seen, places I have visited and thoughts I have had. A reading group of one, an art appreciation society limited by my preferences and prejudices, opera criticism by one who knows nothing about the subject.

My audience is my forgetful self, so I can be as obtuse (in both senses) or as elliptical as I like. Of course, I could just keep a diary or a scrapbook or an overflowing box of magazine cuttings and leaflets, but as I grow older I have an increasing horror of stuff. My mother left a shoebox of photos and just the one theatre programme from her courting days (which I now wish – contrarily – that I had kept, since I can’t recall if it was “Lock up your daughters” or “No, no, Nanette”. If, indeed, either) and my father a manila envelope with professional photos of one of the motorcycle scrambling events that he used to go to.

A virtual pile of aides mémoires is the solution for me.


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