I know deep down my childhood was not as perfect as I now like to think it was, and that the ugliness of the world – that world which makes us all need therapy at one point – surely tainted it here and there… But I still think of childhood as that magical period when, if you are lucky enough to be born in an extraordinary environment, you will certainly live thousands of adventures. I lived some of them on the streets near my house, and others inside my house, at school, in my head. Of all of those, the truly magical ones were all in my head.
The mind is a wonderful thing when it works with you. Against you it is your personal hell. I would love to go back to those lovely days of summer – it’s pretty much always summer here anyway – but alas (!), I cannot. And I should not want to. ‘I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then,’ whispers Lewis Carroll in my ear.
He is right. But I am lost. Totally and utterly lost. I was always very afraid of being lost as a child. Well, geographically lost. Now I am lost in a different kind of way. So I will put on my Agatha Christie’s hat and set out to find my way back again. To help me through this mind trip, I will borrow the wisdom of those I admire most – might they be characters, authors or simply ordinary people who happen to be extraordinary.
I have my mind and pen ready. Oh, and my keyboard.
Let the journey begin!