I do quite a lot of work to try to recover more of my memory from those times when it has become, in recent years, somewhat blurred. Apart from family members and friends (who I can subtly ply with questions without giving away the game) I have artefacts (albums, diaries etc) and other resources, such as Wikipedia and music streaming services. Folks who don the rose-tinted glasses as they wax on about the good old days on social media are also helpful, though they wouldn't know it.

So over the last few days I have plunged, via a music streaming app, into the back catalogue of David Bowie. Music really helps me reconnect with memory and Bowie was, of course, massive when I was a teenager. His remaking of self was one of those hot topics of the time and a symptom of a restless, creative talent bent on success. My favourite album, "Let's Dance" came much later (1983) when my powers of recall seem unimpaired. Playing it over is to invite a flood of recollection.

But earlier material is probably more important in my present circumstances. Playing again "Golden Years" or "Fame" or even "Young Americans" gives me a glimpse, which I hope bears some relation to truth, of my senior years at school, fooling around with the lyrics and wondering at the "death" of Ziggy Stardust. You know that one shard of memory can lead onto another or might open up a whole narrative, as if by chance. 

It's not an easy process for me. But I try, I try.