From the Memory Bank of Italy

I really must get round to making myself a few new memories. There’s nothing wrong with my old memories of course, and I’ll never throw them away or give them to a charity shop; I just need to start making some new ones. While I wait however, this old one is worth another spin. It jumped out at me as I was sorting through my underwear drawer and I thought I’d share it; I don’t know what it was doing in there. It was in 1977 that a lot of good things happened with me. I got a ride from Genoa town centre out to a hostel along the coast. It was late November but early in the day so the hostel was shut, or at least it wasn’t open and wouldn’t be until late in the afternoon. I sat on the steps and let the sun bless my face for a while and looked about the grounds with their trees and flowers and bits of old cars. The edge of the garden dropped onto rocks and on into the sea. Soon another traveller came along. She was called Yolanda, a Canadian, and had enough luggage for six of us and a guitar. We left our stuff behind rocks and went in search of food. We found a café but it had no food so we didn’t eat. At five the hostel opened and we ate then and met up again later. I found her on the steps in the dark strumming in the quiet night. By then we'd both had some wine. We wondered on down to the rocks along the shore. I lay back on a slab of smooth rock under the big moon and my nose got all filled up with the smell of sage and the sea. The girl from Montreal played and sang weird songs that got me thinking and wondering about how weird and sensible the world is. One song was called Suzanne. I’d never heard of Leonard Cohen before and I’ve never forgotten him since