Continuing with the trawl through my diaries (see post 9th May 2022), they are a continual reminder of how much one forgets. Sometimes they jog a memory and a elicit a recollection that adds to the written words; and then on the next page there may be an incident of which I have no recall and nothing can be brought to mind, as if it’s a record of something happening to someone else. That’s just what’s in the diary, how much more is the buried in inaccessible mental recesses?
These lacunae apply to my records of travels as much as everyday events. What strikes me also about the entries for times spent travelling is how long and detailed they are, obsessive even. Why did I write so much? I think it was largely to try to capture the experience, to prevent it from slipping away, knowing how fallible my memory can be. There was also in my mind that I might use the notes as the basis for some considered travel writing. That worked just occasionally, but all too rarely. Reading the descriptions of places and experiences now poses the question: What to do with them? It’s unlikely that anyone else will ever read them and they will only outlive me if someone else wants to clutter up space with a pile of dusty notebooks. If that’s pessimistic, it’s also realistic. In the meantime, I’m going to mine the resources (diaries and photo files) and for each trip and put something on this blog.