24th February 2014

It is the day after Maria von Trapp died and I have been hearing ‘raindrops on roses and mittens on kittens’ from The Sound of Music almost constantly since the news broke on local radio. No visual flashbacks but I keep straightening the front room curtains and trying to recall where the sewing machine is. I know it will pass. Happy childhood is not always such a breeze when it comes to memory and auto suggestion. Take the time my brothers took me to see Apocalypse Now . Going native took on a different meaning. A scene where Martin Sheen submerges himself in the river combines with an ambition to be a marine biologist and work on films with Jacques Cousteau.
Picture a steamy bathroom and the bathtub full to the brim. It has a translucent meniscus of oil on the blue water and the vaguely medicinal scent of some extract of seaweed in the air. A Stopwatch lies on a chair and the Guinness Book of World Records is propped open near the door.
The first time I managed less than a minute. I don’t mix anything with the water these days. The water is tepid and I am holding my breath. Now