The weather has been atrocious today, and even Winnie , who loves her morning hike around the village took one look at the driving rain and gave me one of her " you've got to be fucking kidding" looks.
The only person I spoke to when out was a mom who had previously shared with me the fact that her young daughter had been rocking herself to sleep at night.
" It's a sign of damaged childhood " she had ventured with a worried look.
I didn't tell her that I had rocked myself to sleep for years when we were small children.
I wonder what a modern psychologist would have made of all that then.
I just can't remember the fact all too well.
My memory, or more importantly my lack of it , does trouble me somewhat for great swathes of my early childhood memories never seem to ever surface even though on many a dog walk, I try so very hard to recall days gone by.
Is this normal?
I hardly remember anything of my first decade on this planet. A vague recollection of model airplanes hanging from the ceiling of my brother's bedroom, a sense of me and my sister walking a small terrier on the pavement outside our house , being frightened of a low flying jet after a summer bedtime.
It's not much for ten years of life is it not?
This morning after retiring back to bed after a 6.00 am puppy walk, I dreamt of my grandparents' living room circa 1972.
I remembered it all, the teak effect electric fire surround. The cheap plastic clock on the mantle. Plastic flowers in a wartime wall holder .The pristine white net curtains. The heavy swirling carpet and the shepherd and lamb cushions of the hardwood upright armchairs. The small oblong child's stool with it's blue plastic padded seat.
Oh and standing either side of the clock were two deer figures. Both must have had accidents as their antlers were short and filled down.
