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place memories

When I was a kid, I was convinced my father knew the way from anywhere to everywhere. He knew every road and short cut in London, and seemingly across the country. He drove with confidence, recognising the signs of building traffic …

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Smell Memory

My mother bought the house where she now lives, a concrete 1960s ex-council house that is nothing like the red-brick Victorian architecture she adores, because it has a walk in pantry. Like the one in her childhood home. On first viewing the house …

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Memory and music

Still now, when I hear the familiar opening chorus of Bowie’s “Oh! You Pretty Things” I’m back on the cliff tops of the Welsh Island where, on my Sony Walkman, I first listened to a mix tape made for me by my friend Lizzie. I can smell the sea air and feel …

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