I was at an event last Friday in Newcastle.
Founders Friday, it’s called.
A business get-together most suited to the unsuited.
And where the generous feel more at home than the salesy.
One chap asked me about Izobel, which is nice.
And we got onto the subject of birthdays.
Now; Izobel is my first and only.
And she is 2.
When I tried to remember Izzy Willow’s birthday I squinted and looked up to the left.
I think that means I am accessing a memory.
(Fibbers, apparently, are more likely to look up to the right when they are asked questions about past happenings. Because that’s imagining, not recalling. Take note.)
I fed three numbers to my new friend.
Then I mumbled on to try and make sense of them.
Two years ago.
Then I looked straight at him for the next bit.
June the 18th.
This guy was, I assume, imagining I was recalling information on a birth certificate or some such document.
Like all good, proud fathers might.
I was in fact trying hard to remember the last time I played Roulette at a casino.
Because those are the three numbers I always play.
Because of Izobel.
Funny how minds work sometimes isn’t it?