onionbagblog

I’ve met more people in the past month than I have in fifteen years of South London living. Whoever said that the pace of estuary life is a slow one?

All of this offline interaction is obviously ace. @AnnaJCowen and I arrived in Wivenhoe not knowing a single soul. We needed to find like minded folk, to avoid evenings staying in talking to each other watching Eastenders.

Finding that we are living next door to a fantastic young family has been at the centre of this social circle. An invite to a house party on our first Friday in Wivenhoe, and friends of friends have been introduced to us.

But what this blog post is basically about is my shocking ability to remember names. I am the new boy in the class, and I’m struggling to recall first name terms of all the fine folk that we are meeting.

Alex, Anthony, Sophie, Nigel, Anna, Claire - so far so good. Wayne? Um, it is Wayne, isn’t it?

Whoops.

Recognition is no problem. Everyone here has a story to tell, and with that comes individuality. It’s just that I’m chronically bad at adding such a basic human social skill as name recognition. Which is a bit of an issue when you are trying to meet new people.

The Wandering Cat of Wivenhoe that returns to roost each morning (our roost) also has a name. The funny little fella has been on our minds so much of late, that I actually woke up this morning and called @AnnaJCowen Jet.

Meowww.

So yeah, if I’m five pints for the better on a Friday night and I’m holding my own, so to speak, please accept my apologies when I um and ah through such basic skills as first name terms.

Cheers, um, thingy.

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