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April 12th  2011    Tim Candler

    The New Me does not moan when it rains all afternoon, all night and most of the morning.  He welcomes the chill and a high winds serve only to invigorate him.  As well he appears to enjoy his drowned garden beds, smiles at his overflowing rain gauge and he was able to find his clean socks.   All of which could be symptoms of someone well adjusted and properly keeled..

    But there are some who think the New Me has a screw loose.  They suggest that over the past few years too many brain cells have failed to rejuvenate, leaving him just an inch or two this side of cretinous.

     It's not so much that he can't remember, it's more the worry he has of not being able to remember.  It's the clutching the head and thrashing around.  It's the hours spent hunting for a word or a thing, like being lost in the Belgium Congo.

     I remember at school, around exam time. A boy, a few years older than I, woke us all up in the early morning because he was beating his head against the bathroom wall. He had broken the bathroom mirror and there was blood on the floor.  He was quietly dispatched to the sanatorium for being what our house master so casually called a 'head banger'.  And we never saw or heard of him again.

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