I wish I'd kept a diary or journal when I was younger. I have very sketchy memories of my formative years. I was never really into photography (I took after my dad in the way I never got round to developing films, until waaaaay after they were any good), and a rash of unsuccessful letter-writing throughout my teens put me off for life.

I say that because I was always the one to be dumped in those innocent years. By the time I got to be a grown up (this is still in question), and a girl asked me to put my feelings down on paper I couldn't, and I think the reason why is that when I had done before it splatted back in my face and broke my little heart (always fell in love easily, always will).

I’m just about to move out of the flat that I've been living in for 8 years, and I hoard more things than the British Museum. That’s a lot of memories, although my twenties were quite a drunken time for a while, so most of those memories are hazy, or vague memories of falling over and sleeping in odd places after a night out. I remember once my neighbour knocked on my open door at 6am. He was concerned I had been attacked, as I was lying just inside the doorway. In a way I had been attacked; by a bucket of cheap white wine and a large-chested girl called Jill who was drowning her sorrows about a broken relationship and wanted me to drown with her.

I often wonder whether, given enough time, I could list all the people I’ve ever met. It would be a lot of people – weird ones just popped into my head like my first piano teacher, Jill Somethingor other. Strict and scary that one, and I think the first person other than my mum to ever lay a hand on me. I was a bit crap at the piano.

Then there was Nicky, the German girl who was staying on the same farm in Somerset that we used to holiday on. I think I was 11, and she was about 13. My brother and me used to fight for her attention, especially by the swimming pool as she was the first girl we’d seen around our age in a bikini. Needless to say, neither of us won the fight, and she went back to her enjoy her German life as a model, probably.

Haven’t thought about those two for years. Not sure why they popped into my head, but I suppose it’s because they shaped my life in some where. I still remember the slap, and I still remember the sun tan lotion (piano teacher and german girl in THAT order in case you were confused). The lotion was Ambre Solaire by the way – first time I’d seen that too, as Mum was a strict no-labels woman.

As I was clearing out yet another set of drawers a short while ago, I gathered up about 100 business cards that I’ve accumulated over the years. Whilst this doesn’t tell the story of my childhood (we rarely exchanged business cards in Sunday School), it does map out much of my working life for the last 10 years or so. It brought back memories of the people I had fun with, argued with, was lusting after at the same time as collecting business cards. I think it’ll give me a good start to documenting my life to date – I might start it here on this blog and see where it leads me.

Anyway, the ramblings of a bored box-packer must end for now. I can hear sighs of relief from my laptop.


PS There is more to me than drinking by the way. I've realised three out of three entries are about booze.
My mother would be ashamed.