A study from the University of London announced today shows that memory loss begins as early as the age of 45 – are they taking the piss? If this really is the case, by the time I am 45 in November I won’t be able to remember where my front door is let alone finding the keys to open it. This really is a concern, because in the world of Bob Lethaby short term memory started fading at around 20 years ago, in fact, my memory is so bad that it makes up a huge section of my vocabulary nowadays, published below are my top ten most used sentences:

1 “Where’s my keys?”
2 “Where’s my wallet?”
3 “Where’s my phone?”
4 “Where’s my car?” (my favorite trick in Sainsburys)
5 “Why am I looking in this cupboard?”
6 “Why am I in this room?”
7 “Oooh thanks….I won’t get far without those” (referring to keys abandoned in shops, pubs)
8 “Oooh thanks…that’s honest of you” (referring to the person catching me up with my wallet)
9 “I’m always doing that” (referring to being called back after leaving a credit card in a machine)
10 “I’m sorry what was your name again?” (referring to my Dad)

If this is all going on before the age of 45, what the Hell is going to happen to me after that? Am I going to walk naked in to the bank before saying “Ooops…forgot my clothes again”. However, even though this is an obvious concern, it is not as worrying for me as it must be for someone of 44 who has a memory that allows his keys to be hung up on a hook, his wallet to be placed carefully on the sideboard and a phone that has been in a sling on his hip ever since he gave up having sex. These type of people won’t be expecting it at all, whilst I have the advantage of being a veteran already. Some people are just born ruthless when it comes to knowing where things are all the time, though personally speaking I think life must become boring without the thrill of leaving phones on car roofs or ploughing in to a “Give Way” sign whilst grovelling under a car seat in a panic stricken attempt to find a wallet that is still at the till of the petrol station.

Quite remarkably I drove back from Basingstoke a while ago to discover that I had completed the journey with my phone on the roof of the car, missing three calls in the process, though I wasn’t so lucky when a ten litre tub of brilliant white matt emulsion slid down my back window before exploding across the A30. On that occasion I slowed down whilst contemplating how I would clear up the mess before speeding off in the hope that no one in traffic jam I had left behind me had taken down my number plate. That accident was all down to having a piss poor memory, but one has to say it was fucking funny all the same. A man with a methodically sharp memory doesn’t enjoy these simple pleasures, his tin of paint would have been carefully wedged in to the boot of his car, protected by an old copy of The Daily Mail to cover all eventualities. Where’s the fun in that?

You see, having a crap memory can be exciting, if you listen to tales your friends tell in the pub that make you laugh they often revolve around the general uselessness of middle-aged male memory disasters and mishaps such as leaving the bath running, forgetting to pick the wife up from work, locking themselves out or forgetting to post letters and birthday cards. Having a useless memory also teaches you that despite the hysteria in the British press, most people, I would say around ninety per cent, are very honest, in fact, in my particular case, this figure is more like one hundred per cent. If we lived in the dishonest society The Daily Express craves for, I would be on Mastercard issue number 250, my wallet would be renewed weekly, and I would have suffered the theft of numerous cars and mobile phones, racking up my insurance premiums to unmanageable levels as a consequence. The man with a vivid and structured memory must also live in the fear that everyone wants to steal all his possession’s, when in the majority of cases this is just not going to happen. The fact that I have never actually had to replace a phone or wallet is testimony to the general good nature of the masses who chase me down to hand my lost items back.

Just to add to my collection of things to lose I am now suffering from the other approaching 45 year old syndrome  that is the inability to read anything close up. I bought some +1 reading glasses last year but rather than losing them I decided to be a little bit alternative by sitting on them instead, snapping them clean in half in the process. At least I didn’t lose them, in fact (this ironic Alanis) I still have the two broken bits safely in the draw with all the other stuff I will never use again, I don’t lose useless stuff. I tried on a new pair today in Sainsburys and I was alarmed to discover I am now what they call +2 up one place in under a year! Unfortunately, according to my eldest son, the only glasses that actually worked made me look like a serial sex offender so they remained on the shelf. Having no memory is one thing, looking like a sex offender and having no memory is quite another;


“Mr Lethaby, I will ask you again, where were you on the night when the exposure incident took place?”
“I’m sorry officer, I really cannot even remember where I was five minutes ago”
“Mr Robert William Lethaby I am arresting you for exposing yourself in Hatch Warren playing fields….”


Perhaps I should just content myself with squinting, then I will only look like I am masturbat………oh for fuck’s sake I hate getting old!!!