I mentioned my notebook earlier, and I feel that I should describe it because it means so much to me. It has been part of my life since 1993 – it is A4, and has a red, hard-back cover. It doesn’t get written in every day – maybe a few times a year. The inside covers are stuck with photos of my life from school to university and there are some beautiful paintings which I have seen as well – some Giotto, some Tintoretto (both of whom, I fell in love with whilst living in Venice).
The book then becomes a litany of painful teenage poetry, quotations, and snippets of life – it’s just a way of coping I suppose. I have also tucked in some clippings of things that mean something to me. It’s just a big mish-mash of sellotape, glue, thoughts and memories, but I guarantee that everything in there has a memory attached, and for that reason it is priceless to me and no-one else. I hope everyone has a book full of memories like mine!