Image conscious

As the years glide inexorably by, many of us find ourselves searching for ways to keep mind and body in tip-top condition or, at least, vaguely presentable.

For some it's daily wordles and the gym, while for others cryptic crosswords (impossible) and kale smoothies (undrinkable) are the order of the day. My own efforts are rather more prosaic: hardly ever taking a lift or escalator and not writing down any lists. The first involves climbing stairs that often haven't seen any footfall since the late nineteen seventies, the second picturing daily chores/purchases by way of images my head. For Sherlock Holmes, this was known as his mind palace. For me it's more like a run-down one-bedroom bungalow just south of Doncaster but, you know, from small acorns, etc.

The basic idea goes something like this: if you need to buy some chicken, beer and crisps (that's a purely random example you understand), instead of scrawling 'chicken, beer, crisps' on a tatty bit of paper, you picture Foghorn Leghorn knocking back a few cans of Cruzcampo and munching on a packet of Walker's cheese and onion. I must say for day-to-day tasks it works rather well, notwithstanding a rather disturbing image of my accountant sprawled in a dentist's chair chomping on a pork chop which I'd conjured up the other day to remind me of a couple of appointments I had and to get something in for dinner.

Anyway, last week's trip to the UK was to be the first big test of my new-found talent. So, I closed my eyes and pictured my travel bag dangling from a fuse box (turn the electric off). On top were my passport, keys, wallet and a few euros. Inside, a small mannequin wearing all the clothes I'd need with a toothbrush sticking out of its mouth. This was a doddle. All those years, all those lists - what a waste of pen and paper.

Halfway to the airport, pondering the many possibilities for future stage names - Mind Palace Micky, The Memorizer, etc. - a sudden, terrible thought occurred to me: hadn't I made a lovely cheese and ham sandwich for the trip and hadn't I left it in the fridge with the bottle of milk I'd just opened? Oh, for heaven's sake. For the next couple of hours, the only images inhabiting my mind palace concerned a random selection of creepy-crawlies enjoying a feast. Then I reasoned that fridges are air-tight by nature and any damage would surely be minimal. Surely?

A week later upon my return, I scampered through to the kitchen, opened the fridge door very gingerly indeed and..... well, nothing. Not even a faint whiff of decay, let alone a crack team of cockroaches enjoying a spot of line-dancing. I'd got away with it - this time.

I started to unpack and came across a pen and paper I'd taken with me on my trip for some reason. Maybe it's a sign.

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