A while ago, I walked through the park, that backs on to the house where I grew up. And I was struck with a shift of perspective. I remembered being up by the

A while ago, I walked through the park, that backs on to the house where I grew up. And I was struck with a shift of perspective. I remembered being up by the house in the yard. The perspective had been different, once. That little wooden board, had once seemed a formidable wall, and the garden was like a jungle I had once been scared to go into. I can step over it all in two big strides now. Except I don't really know. It's very hard to pin down anything specific. Is that really a memory of being in that garden? Or just what I know must have once been true? Things are less hazy after about the age of seven or so. I still dream about being in class in primary school sometimes, the oddest little recollections about people I haven't seen in decades. But it is certainly fading with time. Becoming the sort of reconstructions that must have been true.