The dying of the light.

For some years now I haven't had to remember much: my memory's been outsourced to the Internet. Can't recall the source of a quotation? No problem, just Google it. And the coming of the iPhone meant this information was always on tap. No doubt the spread of literacy brought a similar feeling of emancipation to those who'd been previously totally reliant on their powers of recall. And just like an unfortunate who's lost a scrap of paper containing a piece of vital information, I'm bereft when our Internet connection's down. But unlike the scrap of paper, the information in cyberspace is still there and can be retrieved the following day.
   Two years ago, having bought an iPhone 4, I gave Candy my first iPhone, the 3G, which I'd acquired in the summer of 2008. On my recent visit to England I similarly passed on the iPhone 4, having upgraded to this year's model, and Quinn became the proud recipient of the 3G - minus SIM card - which he is using to play games on. But what a sad state the phone is in, bits of plastic are flaking off, and the volume switch has virtually disintegrated. Unfortunately, as my misadventures in England this November bear witness, the physical state of this former repository of my memory reflects the state of my actual memory. My forgetting to remove my luggage from the train, mentioned in an earlier post, was merely the culmination of a series of lapses.
   In the course of mooching about School after the OEs' dinner, Sam, Eccles and I ended up in the choir stalls. A battered copy of The Public School Hymn Book was in the pile of music by the organ. I thumbed through the book to find my favourite hymn, number 311 Lord Dismiss Us with Thy Blessing, always sung on the last day of term. To my horror I discovered that 311 far from being the best of hymns was the very worst: Lord Behold Us with Thy Blessing. No prizes for guessing when that was sung! For over fifty years, ever since leaving the wretched place, I've bored people with my fond recollections of hymn number 311, when all the time it was actually number 317. Soon I'll be confiding to people what a splendid chap Hitler was for standing up to Churchill's aggression and saving England from being invaded by the Nazis.
   Worse was to follow. When Matthew and Charlie came to Candy's for supper the conversation turned to their visit to Montefalcone this year. They said they hoped to come again, to which I responded that it would be a pity if this year's visit should be their only one. But it wasn't, they said. Oh yes it was, I insisted until with a sudden start I remembered that they were of course quite right, and the memory of their visit the previous year blazed into life.
   Just as the colour fades from an old man's hair, so his inner light begins to flicker warning him that soon it will disappear altogether. All that is left is to take to heart Thomas's plea to his father and

'Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'

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