I hate it when I'm shown to be wrong about something. It's bad enough when it's another person pointing out my mistake and I just have to put on a brave face and accept that I'm not infallible. But, it's worse when it's my own sub-conscious that points out my error. Although, at least I don't need to admit my fault publicly.
A couple of weeks ago I was talking about a bloke I know in Deloraine who shares my birthday and I boldly said that he was the only other person I know who does. Thinking back, there may have been a slight feeling of disquiet, that it was a careless statement and that, at some time in the future it would come back to bite me.
Today was the day. In fact, it was early this morning when I was still in bed and my subconscious rang a little warning bell in my brain. It wasn't a polite bell; in fact, if I had to categorise it, it was a peal of bells, highlighting the carelessness of my statement.
Yes, I had forgotten my childhood friend and class-mate at Blantyre Public School in Scotland. Matthew Scott was born on the same day that I was and we ended up in the same class at school. The last day I saw Matthew would have been about December 9th or 10th, 1950 and I haven't heard from him since. Perhaps I can be forgiven for leaving his memory back in the mists of time.
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