on the nature of time, as well as rambling reminiscences of my childhood
of the same, I'm afraid.
As a child I was always looking backward. When I moved from the
ages to my old street to look at my former abode and derive some comfort
from the familiarity of its presence. What's odd about this over-developed
sense of nostalgia is that I only lived three or four minutes away and was
a mere five and a half years old. Wow! Not even six and already
hankering after the 'good old days'.
of my personality all through my life to this very day. I recently added
photographs of the views from the windows of my previous houses to my
screensaver facility so that I can again gaze on familiar scenes whenever
the mood takes me. At the click of a key I can re-experience any one of
several landscapes that once met me when I drew back the curtains
in the morning at various stages in my life.
However, there was one particular house (the third after the afore-
same denomination just around the corner from our new home. (In fact,
it was from this group that the one my mother went to had sprung.) My
friends all lived near or around my old domicile and I continued to
frequent the area for quite a few years after.
It wasn't unusual for me to come home from school (and later,
to hang about the local shopping centre (about thirty seconds away from
my old front door) with my pals. Perhaps that explains why I wasn't con-
sumed with the same rabid pangs of nostalgia I nursed for previous houses;
I saw it so often that I simply never had a chance to miss it. The ambiance
of the house was preserved in our new home by the presence of the same
furniture we'd had in every place we'd ever lived in - plus, our new house
was similar in many respects to the first one I remembered, hence it
conjured up a feeling of familiarity that pre-dated the dwelling we
had just recently vacated.
ensconced in yet another new residence that I gradually started to miss
the one we had quit way back in 1972. What's strange about this was that
I was simultaneously wallowing in nostalgic notions for the homestead we
had just left (to say nothing of the ones which preceded them both), so it
certainly can't be denied that I was spoilt for choice when it came to
such sentimental self-indulgence. Perhaps I'm just greedy?
Okay, we've killed a few minutes, so how do I bring these meandering