Ah Memories.

My youngest mouse and I were comparing notes on memory. We don’t have one. Yesteryear is a foreign land to us, it’s a flaw in the mouse genome. Another flaw is that we’ll consider even flaws in a good light. Yes not having a good memory is a positive boon. In fact all a good memory does is provide a fertile foundation for boredom and frustration, the sign of a misspent life. For us the Dave channel is a fabulous platform for new talent, with Yes Minister beautifully depicting David Cameron’s comedy cock-ups. For us everything is new. “Who are you, I’m your wife, wow really you’re gorgeous, thanks.” Bacon. I don’t know how many times I’ve had bacon but every time it’s like wow this is tasty. I mean if I could remember stuff I’d be bored with it, not bloody cauliflower cheese again! I must admit though shopping is a problem. I can go to Tesco’s for three things, I count them on my fingers as I set out, three fingers, three things. And then in the shop I’m minutes staring at this third finger trying to remember what it was for. It’s a finger, it didn’t tell me anything! So it’s lists. Lists tell me everything, except for the times I go down stairs not thinking a list is necessary and wander about wondering why I came. On the rare occasions I go singing if I don’t make a set list I can’t remember anything I can play. Lyrics were a problem until I realised you can mouthfully emote any selection of vowels and consonants like on Countdown and fool most of the people most of the time. Mustang Sally you must get right, Mustang Brenda will get funny looks, but for the rest, “yoomb glepp a blow mow Mustang brown” is fine. So all you insurance salesmen out there who can remember everyone’s name right down to siblings and pets, get a life. Memory just clutters up your ability to think straight.