A trip to Paperchase today, probably my favourite stationers, ended in disappointment when I discovered that they had gone bust around the turn of the year. The intention was to buy a journal in which I would document my forthcoming world tours of the land of my father (Canada) and the land of my mother (The Netherlands) but it will now have to wait for another day.
Courtesy of Mr Google, I learned that the brand, though not any of the stores, had been bought by ‘Britain’s Biggest Grocer’, Tesco, which encouraged me to visit their ‘Tesco Fucking Massive Store’ – I think that’s what it was called, although I may have made it up – to little effect. I am not sure how these brand takeovers work, except to say that Tesco’s stationery department was as piss poor as ever and I saw no evidence that anything at all had survived.
I’ve always liked the idea of keeping a journal, which I suppose is a posh way of keeping a diary. In 1975, I visited my dad in Canada and kept a journal throughout, although I did refer to it as a diary. Anyway, it’s fabulously detailed and takes me back to the places I saw 48 years ago. And unlike almost every aspect of my life which has disappeared into the ether, those memories are crystal clear. There’s a lot to be said for keeping a journal and it does make me wonder why I didn’t bother to carry on.
It’s probably down to a combination of circumstances which will have included the consequences of ADHD and a somewhat humdrum, boring life, punctuated by things it’s best not to write about publicly. Having said that, I’ve taken Christ knows how many holidays over the years and it would be nice to have a reminder of what I got up to. As it is, many of them, particularly during the Corfu years, which included an absurd 25 visits, seem to blend into one long visit and even though vaguely interesting things happened, I’m buggered if I can remember what year they happened in.
For someone who has never got round to writing my own journals, I am fascinated by biographies of others. I like reading about people doing interesting things, even if I don’t particularly like doing them myself. For instance, during a recent holiday in Croatia, we had the opportunity to visit the historic Diocletian’s Palace. Disrespectfully, I declined the opportunity, preferring instead to sit outside a lovely bar, drinking ice cold beer and reading a book about interesting things someone else had done. My partner’s journal, if she kept one, would probably be infinitely more interesting than mine.
I certainly need to record these forthcoming trips in case something interesting happens. In Canada, I am meeting long lost family and in the Netherlands it’s more a voyage of rediscovery, essentially going back to my roots. It should be interesting to me, if not my loyal reader who could well be in a sense of utter despair and of course boredom.
My journal from 1975 has only been read by perhaps one other person. Hopefully, I can get this one up to two or three. If I can make it interesting enough.
