The first time that you do something is occasionally memorable.
I once told a woman that I had a memory of watching a steam train passing by our house in Durham when I was less than two years old. I told her that I particularly remember the vivid red of the buffer plate as it passed, going from right to left and that I must have been less than two years old as my parents had left Durham before my second birthday.
She immediately informed me that she has a degree in psychology. Then, she stated, emphatically, that I was mistaken because no one has memories from before they are two. She informed me that my recollection was an example of “false memory”.
She was so insistent that the next day, I spent hours on Google. I discovered a 1949 Ordnance Survey map of Carrville, the village in County Durham where we had lived. I found 19 New Grange Road and there, at the back of the row of miners’ cottages, was a railway line. Hah!
I can remember the first time I ever saw a television programme. It was on the morning of June 2nd 1953 and I was taken to a nearby house by my mother and left there to watch the Coronation. I assume that it was the house of someone with whom I had just started school.
Also, I can remember the walk home. There are two reasons why: it was absolutely pouring with rain and when my Mum came to collect me, the man whose house it was told me that my sister had come for me. The flirt!
All the activities we do in life, from every breath we take to the cups of coffee we drink, has a finite number. Every time we complete any activity is one fewer from that total in life’s countdown.
In my entire lifetime, I will take x steps while walking, a finite number.
The number of steps I have already taken in my life is y.
That means that x - y = z
And so, z = the number of steps I am yet to take.
Every day, z is getting closer to zero and according to the app on my phone, z has decreased by 4562 since this time yesterday. Substitute “cleaning my teeth” for “steps” and every night I find that I am engaging in a slightly depressing activity.
I wonder, apart from having a bath, what other things I have done regularly and frequently in the past but will never do again.
When was the last time you had a bath? I’m not suggesting for a moment that you need one but I’m mildly curious because I haven’t had a bath for 13 years.
The last time I had a bath was on Thursday October 27th 2005 at about 10 p.m. The following morning Caroline and I were in a taxi at 6.00 a.m. on our way to Heathrow airport to fly to Grand Cayman. Our house in Cayman, where we lived for the next 5 years, only had a shower.
By the time we came back to the UK, I was fairly seriously incapacitated because of arthritis and consequentially, incapable of getting in and out of a bath. That remains the state of affairs today.
I can only think of one thing I have ever done just once and then thought, “I will never do that again.” That was the time in Cayman when I tasted the fruit of the papaya or pawpaw tree. I thought to myself, “Never again.” Pawpaw fruit is disgusting.
It’s probably because of my age but I frequently wonder, “What else will I never do again?”
I know that the last time I ever had alcohol was on August 7th 2010 but I didn’t know that it had been the last time until two days later when I was told so by a doctor in Barnet hospital.
I haven’t cried because of pain or frustration since I was about 8 but I can’t remember exactly when that last time was, or why I cried.
I remember the last cricket match I ever played was in September 2004 against Brondesbury. I vividly remember the last delivery I ever faced while batting. I pushed the ball gently to mid-off, set off for a single and was run out for 0.
The last ever class I ever taught was 9X on Friday October 21st 2005 and they achieved virtually nothing in that lesson because I was retiring in 40 minutes time.
The last time I ever ran as fast as I could was in Cyprus in the summer 2005, when I ran down a hill that was steeper than I realised and I found that I couldn’t stop running. I had to walk back about 120 metres uphill to the bar I was heading to. Caroline had watched me rush past and thought I’d gone bonkers.
Most times that I do or experience something nice or pleasurable, a little voice in the back of my head says, “Was that the last time?” or, “How many more times will you do that?”
When you are young, the idea that something will stop happening and you will never do it again doesn’t ever occur to you. For probably six years, from the age of 11 during school holidays and at weekends, I would ride my bike to where two of my friends, Eddie and Roger, lived opposite each other. Then, the three of us would cycle somewhere. In the summer it was mostly to Oulton Broad and in the winter, it was usually to Normanston Park.
One day, we were cycling along Fir Lane as we always did on our way home when I said, “There will be a last time we ever do this together.” They both took a bit of convincing but eventually, they both agreed with me that there would be a last time.
I wish I could remember the last time we did do that ride together, having done it hundreds of times before. Of course, I can’t because, at the time I would have thought that it was bound to happen again.
I have nothing important scheduled for tomorrow. It should be an ordinary, mundane day. However, I will be making the most of everything I do and be interested in everyone I meet.
I won’t know that it’s happening at the time but tomorrow may be the last time that I ever do something or meet a particular person.
Carpe diem!
