I am always quite fascinated with the memory connections my brain makes from time-to-time. I know what made me think of this but I'm damned if I know why.
I read an article today about a child getting his hair cut and being scared witless of it, and suddenly I remembered getting my own hair cut as a child. When I was a kid my mum used to get our hair cut by an ex-hairdresser friend of hers. This friend was someone she had known from her own child-hood when they lived next door to each other on Christmas Island. This is fascinating in and of itself, but it's not what I remembered. It was the way Debbie used to dress and her own hair-do, the way their drive-way in Warrandyte was the steepest thing I'd ever come across as a kid, the magnificent view from their lounge room, the over-abundance of green and very tall trees they had in their garden, the way their kitchen and lounge room ran into each other around a cabinet and what their kitchen looked like in minute detail.
Now, I have no idea if I am remembering it correctly or not, but I just spent a good five to ten minutes being bombarded by crystal-clear images of Debbie and Ian's house, a house I haven't seen for a good twenty odd years.
How bizarre.
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