The Sash Window

1957. Light.

I think I remember my mum's smiling face, I remember light, bright light, which flooded my life through that sash window, into my pram. Here's another little interesting thing, I remember something like bubbles, but not bubbles, funny when something inside your head looks and feels like bubbles or spheres of plastic and you can almost taste them, smell them when you don't even remember if they had a smell or taste. But they were very real. What they actually were is long gone, just a memory of shape of a taste of a smell. Theres no one left even to validate the sash window besides that developed picture, and no way to prove a thing, however, they are my memories and relics of memories. If I seem fucked up to you readers in the real world then you're probably right.

So what was my new world? I have photographs of my pram and I remember chrome, they used to make prams to last, built like brick shit houses as they say. Mild tubular steel chrome plated with coach work and big shiny spoked wheels. The interior padded and comfortable yet forcibly restraining, the hood steady and strong, strong enough to withstand a gale force wind or a howling baby. I remember the chrome parts of the Pram and I can remember from a very early age trapping my finger in one of the joints of the handle. Once bitten twice shy they say, however, I probably trapped my finger several times over a period of months being a slow learner.

The Interior of the Pram afforded two more chrome rings, these were used to keep me in, the last thing my parents wanted was for me to fall out and bang my head again. This pram was big, and to protect the delicate cargo of the developing fat fool the restraining straps were used so that I could not fall out and bang the cranium or escape to Neverland with Peter Pan (not Michael Jackson).