Since writing these memoirs I’ve realised that memories are not always related to actual events or actions, they are also related to feelings. Without getting too deeply into psychology (which isn’t my area) I suppose it’s a little bit like how a pop song from the past may evoke a particular emotion; for me I only need to hear the first few chords of John Lennon’s Working Class Hero to touch base with my roots and morph back into the rebel I was as a younger man.

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Looking at a photo from the past (especially one of those yellowy ones) gives me enormous pleasure and takes me straight back to that time, that place, that event and those people. But sometimes I like to just close my eyes and let my imagination take me back. 

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After our second culture-vulture trip to Morocco I remember it being lovely to just be home again in Gibraltar living our normal lives again – whatever normal was. I guess what comes close to explaining that is imagining having a week off work on leave and not being booked to go anywhere; these days I think people would call that a Staycation? 

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Our year to date had been far from normal and as Carol’s pregnancy continued it looked as though the future months could be unpredictable too; (for me) the times when we did very little were equally as important as the times when we were buzzing around doing all sorts. As a music lover a similar analogy to me is that the silences in a song or instrumental speak as many volumes as the sounds.

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Although I know the quiet times in life can be brief I’ve never let that stop me taking advantage of them. Often I’d sit out on our balcony at Edinburgh House and look up at a fantastic view of the Rock as I listened to children playing in the quadrangle below – particularly at stressful times. It wouldn’t be unusual for me to sit out until the sun went down, the children had gone in and the world fell silent through a warm tropical evening. If I close my eyes right now…I’m back there.

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