Things Recalled, Things Remembered

It's been another week of triumph for the Genie, in both regular and novel modes.  I've lost count of the number of times I've thought to myself, 'here again! Genie at work!'.  Then, yesterday, came a new guise.  Four times in succession, I was misled by SatNav, the electronic marvel who isn't the all-seeing eye we think him to be.  The day started in darkness, with a 6.30 collection of pharmaceutical samples for pre-noon delivery in a variety of locations.  I was one of three drivers attacking this task, and was assigned Watford and West Molesey.  In Watford, just as day was dawning (although one could be excused for not noticing this fact, owing to the torrential rain!), I was directed to a private estate of executive houses, which I knew instinctively was going to be wrong, because these goods are usually sent to warehouses or distribution centres.  In fact, although I didn't recognise the name, it was a large establishment I'd visited before, about two streets away.

On, then, to West Molesey, where I found myself on an industrial estate, but sent to a dead end, with the roof of the place I wanted peeking cheekily from the adjacent road over those immediately before me.  On the way home, I was diverted from the M25 for another job, collecting from Uxbridge for a specialist aviation repair firm near Southend.  My collection was from a well-known logistics firm where I recalled being held up for some while waiting for goods on a previous occasion.  There was no change from this yesterday but, before I could enjoy this experience, I had to overrule the instruction to take the previous turning!  As I keyed in my final journey, for the delivery in Rayleigh, I had the feeling. 'this one isn't going to be right, either!'  The delivery note told me 'Claydons Lane', but when presented with the postcode I'd been given, SatNav had come up with 'Rat Lane' which, although adjacent, required me to drive around the block a second time, and then make a verbal enquiry, before I could see my target.

So much for routine.  There is nothing routine about a famous star of the silver screen reaching the age of 80.  Twice this week, on Tuesday and Thursday, I was sent to my East Anglian homeland. On Tuesday to Hadleigh and Ipswich, and on Thursday closer to 'home', to the village of Hoxne, where I was to collect a guitar autographed by a famous singer-songwriter.  As I drove along the A14 on Thursday morning I was thrilled to find myself listening to the first item on Woman's Hour, as Jenni Murray interviewed Sophia Loren about her 'fairy tale life'.  You can hear the interview on the BBC website here.

Why did this so delight me, you may ask, and especially why so as I travelled towards the area where I grew up?  Many possible explanations come to mind, ranging from 'coat-tail clinging' through 'name-dropping' to 'stealing glory that belongs elsewhere'.  I prefer to think of it as simply pride to be associated, however tenuously, with such a romantic story.  My link is this.  Apart from the fact that she was an immigrant to our rural community, my mother-in-law had two other claims to fame.  One was that her birthplace was mentioned in the Bible (Acts 28:13), albeit in a variant form of the name; the other was that, while she was growing up in Pozzuoli, and serving as a Sunday School teacher, in her class had been the future Sophia Loren.

My mother-in-law, long widowed, died in the spring of last year, and our lives had been lived far apart for the last thirty years or so, but I have often recalled this unusual claim to fame ... if I'm honest, probably far more often than, in her humility, she did.  Maybe that's because my own life, lived for so many years in one place, and very much steeped in routine, boasted no such peaks of innocent achievement to celebrate.

This week has been quite a time of remembering; indeed, this whole year has been so, and I find - perhaps like many - that 'remembering', or rather the calling to mind of events that happened too long ago to be remembered in the literal sense, has become somewhat mind-numbing.  I'm suffering from 'WWI overload'.  I recognise its importance in our history; nevertheless, the fact that there are four more years of 'remembering it' to go through, none of which will match the horror of the original, is rather daunting.  So it seems refreshing to have something lighter, while equally 'too long ago to be literally remembered' to think about.