There is no end to memory...

What are you reading? Writing, and to the point 1. My writing. If you looked at earlier entrys on this blog you would see a series of unsustained attempts towards action in this area.I am hoping that this dribble has finally come to the place when the damn dam bursts and I actually do it instead  of waffling on about the desire to.It may be, that now is not the time. And, I look back at this entry as just another drop in the bucket. "I had a Dream, but let it go, but only for a while, till I get sane and can use this pain, to put some satisfaction in my smile. After alienation on earth, I' ll positive, the negatives away, say what I believe, believe what I say, and let out a chuckle for such a serious day" May be. My son sent me this yesterday https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KxGRhd_iWuE&fbclid=IwAR0vLO6IlmO2M5gBih-Wv2_RKh_k_y3TTB5P9iGGY4RgPq3RaVwoRe2Rjkc
I remember...(How many times have I written those two words and that... was as far as (there done it! now to carry on!) I got?).. that I have always had this dreamy desire. It began with a love of words. One day a book arrived in the mail for me.It was called The Five and a Half Club. (I guess I must have been five) My mother told me that I had joined this Club, Thereafter books would regularly arrive to me from the club. I've tried to find referance to this club elsewhere and have found none. My suspicion is that Mum was the administrator and I the only member. She died a few days ago. I think maybe that I should finish what she started.
I remember... at Intermediate school, just before going to High School. A report being sent out by my teachers suggesting what would be the best carreer choice to pursue.Mine was Journalist.When I did leave school my main consideration was that I had to get a a job quick!, as my parents were away for two weeks and I didn't want them to send me back. When the schools career advisor said that he wouldn't sign my release form unless I had something to go to, I splurted out horticulturist ! Not because I knew what it was, but because an admired older brother of a friend was one,and he was very cool!(thanks Owen)The advisor proffered to me a booklet for a Diploma of Horticulture at Lincoln College. A quick perusal and I ascertained  (note my previous developed love of words) that it required one years practical work "Yes! thats what I want to do" (please sign the bloody form!) and I was Out of There.On the way home I walked (literally as it was normally on the bus) into the local nursery, waved the pamphlet at the owner the and said "I want to do this,can I have a job?"40 years later (and many employers) I am very glad about this carreer choice(?) Yet... why has that one word-journalist- been imbedded in my psychi and plagued me like an unfullfiled dream all this time.Maybe another good reason to write this journal.
I remember... getting punched in the head at the River Bar.
(TO BE CONTINUED)