The 40 In 40 Days Project.
 

19. The First Memory (1964)

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The Au Pairs
The Step-stepfather
The Simulated Wank
The Toy Store
The First Single
The Queeny Put-Down
The First Hissy Fit
The First Gay Club
The Rent Boy
The Heterosexual Phase
The Lifestyle Switch
The Empty Floor
The First Poem
The Amsterdam Weekend
The First Time
The Perfect Moment
The Year In Berlin
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The First Memory
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The "Tales of the City" House
The Musical Epiphany
The Worst Thing I Ever Did To Anyone
The Royal Procession
The Parental Disclosure
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The Shove From Above
The Interrogation
The Professional Rut
The Rebirthday
The First Boyfriend
The "Catharsis Of Joy"
The Funeral Address
The Falling In Love

Chronological Index

troubled diva

Summer 1964. I am two and a half years old. This is my first memory.

We are living in a smallish bungalow on the edge of Doncaster. One bright and sunny afternoon, I am sitting in my sandpit, just outside the back door leading to the kitchen. My mother is washing up indoors. I am playing with my bucket and spade.

Bored with making sandcastles, I decide to embark on a major civil engineering project instead. It will be something really big, and grown up, and clever, and impressive. I am going to empty all the sand out of the sandpit. Mummy is going to be so proud of me!

I set to work with great determination, repeatedly filling up my little bucket and tipping the sand out onto the lawn beside me. Soon, there is a great big heap of sand on the grass, bigger than any of my sandcastles. Wow!

Once I’ve cleared most of the sand from the pit, I eagerly rush into the kitchen, keen to show off my work. “Mummy, come and look at what I’ve done!” I am acquiring a taste for praise, and get ready to be told what a clever little boy I am. My mother follows me outside.

She is not amused by what she sees. In fact, she looks horrified, and cross. I am spoken to sharply. I am not to tip sand all over the lawn in future. I am to put all the sand back in the sandpit, now, please. And she goes straight back indoors.

I am a bit bewildered and a bit upset. I thought Mummy would be pleased with me. With confounded expectations and a heavy heart, I start spooning the sand back into the sandpit. This is more difficult than it was before, as the sand is in a loose heap rather than a tight enclosed space. It is also not nearly so much fun.

Nine years later, my mother marries a civil engineer. By this time, I am a confirmed aesthete with a pronounced distaste for the great outdoors.

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