Strange things have been happening recently. My short term memory seems to gone for a walk. What neurologists refer to as "doing an Oates".

I had a conversation some years back with my dad. The old man was complaining that he couldn't find his car keys which he'd only had five minutes before. He couldn't understand how he'd misplaced them, since when he was at school and involved in amateur dramatics he had once memorised the scripts to three separate plays, which were all in production at the same time. Needless to say, with the arrogance of youth, I scoffed. I'm not scoffing anymore.

I simply don't understand how I can remember in detail, events that happened in 1975 or the minutiae of 1970's television programmes, when I can't recall what I had for breakfast this morning.

For example, I recently went to my partner's daughter's 21st birthday party. A week in advance, my partner reminds me that we will need the digital camera, then underlines the importance of this by saying how upset she would be if I forgot it. I immediately go home and place the camera box in my suitcase, just to get ahead of the game. Imagine my surprise when we arrive at the Travelodge, I open the box and find nothing more than a charger in there. Trouble is, if she'd held a gun to my head, at that point, I couldn't have told her where I last saw the bloody thing. She'd have had more luck asking me who Steve Austin's boss was in the Six Million Dollar Man, circa 1977 (Oscar Goldman).

Fast forward a couple of days, I come downstairs, I'm carrying a change of clothing, as I'm going straight out after work. I eat my breakfast, then go to find the keys, so I can load the car up. Where are they? Nowhere to be found. Ten minutes of frantic searching eventually reveal them to be hooked over the hanger on which I've placed my shirt, but I have absolutely no recollection of placing them there. The only good thing, is that as I'm ransacking the house, I find the camera under a cushion on the sofa. Now when did I put it there and more importantly why?

More sinister still the other night I opened my mail to find a pair of my pants had been posted back to me. Now this really did worry me, because I can certainly not remember leaving a pair of my briefs, soiled or otherwise, at anyone's house recently. In fact I wasn't even sure if they were mine, but I haven't done any washing this week and was forced to wear them to work the day after. The investigation continues but at the moment Smudger is firmly in the frame for that particular stunt.

Then I realised with horror. Jesus Christ, I'm approaching middle age. The gut wrenching feeling in the pit of my stomach. All the pieces fit. The prematurely greyed hair, the laughter lines appearing on my face. The rampant cynicism. The growing obsession with house prices and an uncontrollable urge to read the Daily Mail.

I reckon if my memory continues to fade at such an alarming rate, by the end of next month, I'll be wandering off to the shops, for the third time that day, minus my trousers. The only good thing is that by that stage I won't be able to remember writing this blog.

Be Lucky