It is a strange coincidence when my mother and Hugh Grant talk about the same topic in the space of a few days. More from the witty Mr Grant in a moment. My parent, an avid reader of this blog, has suggested that I wean myself away from those (occasional) childhood memories I like to recount in these pages and talk more about the present, perhaps about things with purpose and meaning.
I believe that it is our understanding of time that’s the issue. The present is invariably a sprawling blur of dragging days that unexpectedly disappear with the weekend. A whole month goes in a flash and a year is nearing completion. Life spent on an endless flat road driving steadily, looking ahead into the distant horizon can be a wearying experience. The here and now is made more tiresome when we are forced to try and re-organise that past – the present as it is, refuses to settle down anytime soon.
When we look back, it is invariably with special golden tinted glasses. This is where Hugh Grant comes in – in an interview promoting The Rewrite (which sadly promises to be another dud), he says that the age of eleven is when we most feel alive. He says people spend a lot of time recreating innocent times – they go on holiday to places they went to as children. Even when he speaks to his brother, they don’t talk about the present, they relive their old childhood memories.
Feel free to comment below but I think there’s a train of thought to pursue for next week’s post…oops!