Life for Lola

I was talking to Susan - a colleague/co-worker, whatever - we suddenly hit on the subject of stamp collecting and memories flooded back of shoe boxes full of torn envelopes with stamps on, transparent packets of stamps from around the globe and empty pages of books with grids on. In particular we discussed those strange sticky things that you fixed the stamps on with that would spill out onto the carpet like confetti and never be the same afterwards. I remember how the pages would crinkle that did have stamps on and those pages that you knew you would never use with a country you'd never heard of, those pages would never crackle. The adverts in the back of the beano for "Bumper packets of stamps of the world"
I wasn't an avid collector at all, as a child I was just as faddy as I am now and would be passionate about something for a while like the next person. Oh but the memories that you think you've forgotten that are unleashed in an instant through a smell or a few words. Somewhere in the brain is a huge damn the size of Ikea. If those computer geeks could work out a way of transferring memories onto discs they'd sell like hotcakes. I suppose then people would constantly live in the past if they had access to it, best then, like stamp collecting, to leave it behind.