Talisman

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OK - a spoon. But to me, this particular spoon is the gateway to so many memories. As I said the other day, Al's funeral placed a very different spin on things than the fact of his death itself. It is as if the ritual goodbye has also sealed up a large chunk of our collective history, bringing to a close that which was common to so many of us. The fact is, everything changes, subtly, when a person and their personality are taken out of the equation: we are, at the heart of it all, collective in nature. That's not to say we are mentally or emotionally in each other's pockets, but rather mutually supportive in our personal isolation.

The spoon. This came into my possession in 1989 or early 1990. We were involved in the great blancmange experiment [blog posts passim] at what eventually became The Electric Mountain in Llanberis. Jane & I decided that we would have a weekend break in Paris: a spur-of-the-moment idea that seemed pretty good at the time. However, by the time we had got airside at Manchester Airport, we were informed that French air traffic control were on strike and there were no guarantees that we could fly before Saturday, or even Sunday. As we needed to be back at work on the Monday, this obviously wasn't workable, so we bailed back through security with a very nice bloke leading the way.

Anyway, that left us in Manchester on a Friday evening with less money that we started out with - having to sell our euros back again meant we lost out by quite a few quid - not knowing the city or what the bejeezus to do, I naturally rang the Moore's, who, as usual, were sat in the kitchen eating and drinking.  Alan & Irene, hailing from Manchester, were the obvious guides to turn to. Having been pointed at The Eagles for a pint of Holt's finest, we moved on to The Rajdoot for a curry: the spoon being my souvenir of a very fine meal, indeed. Thence to a hotel recommended by Al, for brandy, cigarettes and kip.

I guess the point of this reflection is that the most mundane of artefacts can carry the most profound meanings for us: significance lost to future generations without the continuity of shared memory and conservation. But those shared memories are the currency of humanity, the bones of experience whose importance far outstrips and outlives the mundanity of financial 'achievement'. Culture is founded in memory. We are culture. We are our past, present and future: the human race is its own memory...

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