Mitchell's Musings

Apparently, a good tale grows with the telling; this is especially true of me with my memories.  After all I do love a good story. One of my favourites is the tale I tell, when I explain to people how I met my oldest friend.  It is a good story and it contains the kind of elements that would illicit the response I tend to be looking for.   The first walk to the new school, the nervousness of being the new kid in class, the discomfort of new school clothes, meeting my new teacher, an argument with the annoying kid in class, who quickly became my best friend.    It is a nice whimsical story, but these days, if I am honest I have no idea if its true or not. This is because I was seven at the time & I have altered it many times since over the years.   I suspect Chris does not know either, but I know that his version of events will differ from mine.   It is well known that our memories are not particularly good.   The truth is, we all do this kind of thing with our memories quite a lot,

  I have struggled to write recently. There's nothing unusual in this. But I suppose in the circumstances that we're in it's happening more to us all in many ways.  It was helpful then that I have my friend Donna to bully me. She will no doubt claim that I was merely being "encouraged" to get my rear end in gear and produce something. I'm not fooled, but the point was well taken.  To ease my way back into things I thought I would revert back to the familiar.  This is my grandfather's Blowtorch, and it was one of the gifts that was passed on to me by my Aunt and my Mother. Most of the time it sits on a shelf in my living room and it has become another one of those curios that evoke fond memories. This struck me as odd when I thought about it properly, because I never actually saw my grandfather use it. So I have no real memory of it. It was just one of the items in the tool chest when it was given to me. In real terms it looks like what it is. An old tool t