The first senior moment, as Michele was to call it, was completely forgetting she might call in late this morning. I did have the prospective vandalism today of our stair railing on my mind. I didn’t in fact remember her until seeing her on Lower George St.
My being hailed by a Mears man from the back of his caged lorry counts as the second because he was assuming a familiarity I couldn’t account for at once while myself assuming I must’ve encountered him since he worked for my landlord. He’d been the fire safety man I’d helped by organising the neighbours. He didn’t think I’d have much chance with the ombudsman who’d, as suspected, support the authority over vandalising the railings that has as yet not occurred today as promised.
The third moment was being pursued into the block by somebody I did recognise but whose name I couldn’t recall. From the poetry centre card he showed me it was, of course, Laurence. He’s a depressive worrier. As Greg has said, “You attract all us crazies.”
I’m as pacifying as a baby’s dummy dipped in whisky or some other spirit.