Brainfade

What is it with the human brain. How come it can fill itself with the most useless tripe about stuff it had no business giving a seconds thought to, and when you are forced into introducing two people you've known for years you can't remember their names.

"This is...er...and...err..."

But ask me what was number one in the Indie charts in October 1989 (The Cure's "Love Song" or was it Stone Roses...) or which Elvis movie was directed by the guy who did Casablanca I'm your man. Bette Davis and Joan Crawford? What do you want to know.

I'm the secret weapon in pub quizzes. I drive my gal crazy when "Who Want's To Be A Millionaire" is on. Yelling strange words at the TV does not go down as romantic behaviour in our house, even now.

I just don't know where it all comes from. Some old record comes on the radio - from Frank Sinatra up to the Coldplay newie and I can warble my way through the best of em. I even knew Rapper's Delight off by heart once...

"See I am wonder Mike and I like to say hello! To the black, to the white, the red, and the brown, the purple and yell-o! ..."

Beats Hamlet that does..:-)

And stuff that you've no business paying attention to stays in there too, like the names of Eurovision Song Contest failures, or some Barcelona hotel I dossed down in for a while (complete with the name of the dude who ran it, the room rate and the chick who ran the bar on Placa Del Pi)

I can still take you directly to a dozen famous graves in Pere Lachaise, Montparnasse and MontMartre. Jim Morrison - right down there on the left, just follow the scribble, Tristan Tzara? the little flat square one, Victor Noir? The cool dude ont floor with the top hat holding the flowers. Modigliani? Hidden down there by Oscar Wilde. Brancusi's 'Kiss'? Right down there hidden in the corner...

I wonder if there's a limit to all this.

Perhaps that's what Senile Dementia's all about - you see an episode of EastEnders and in walks Den and Angie's dumpy blonde daughter and she's wandering round the Queen Vic and you're trying to remember the dozy cow's name and bam! No more memory left. You get the flashing Microsoft Alert, or the Apple Mac Bomb icon and that it. Meltdown. System crash.

When you restart all the files are messed up. Madonna's still shagging Warren Beatty, David Batty still gets picked for Leeds and Michael Barrymore's the king of Saturday night. What did you have for breakfast? '?" Where do you work? "??" What day of the week is it? "????" Which way is up?

Our lass reckons it was down to bad programming when I was born. Dodgy installation she reckons. It's too late to reset the system so the that old brain files get deleted as the new files arrive. I'm destined to get brainfade from hereonin. Better start writing off to 'Fifteen To One' right now and catch the next train to Saddo City!

Now I know the old files are not getting deleted, cos I got an email from a dude down under I haven't heard a thing from since I was sixteen and I could remember almost everything about him down to his favorite bevvy and the name of his dog. Mum dug out some old pix from a camping trip a few of us took to Scotland when we were fifteen and I could remember the names of mountains we trogged up to the top of.

Now if the human brain was sorted out stuff like that would drop off the memory like crumbs off a bread board. I'd be much better in arguments where I could actually remember what I'd said ten minutes ago, and maybe win one now and again.

Mind you, I'll never forget just how rubbish England played in the first half of the game in Bratislava yesterday. Sheesh...

Blogga.