So it seems that everyone has a 'fish story'. You know... the one that 'got away'. 

I refer to, that shot I missed with my camera, that lyric, story/plot, poem or other moment of epiphany that slipped through my grasp and into the unreachable ether. The list is not exhaustive.

Therefore...

There are boxes of odd bits, scraps of paper, notebooks and various other means of written records within my very limited living space dating back to the 1970s. I suppose I really should scan them on to some form of digital media, but then I get this niggle-like-twinge in my occipital lobe that tells me the physical aspect of any one of those 'scraps' holds a memory. Some profound, others not so much, but nonetheless, they exist and therefore in loosing them would in fact, be like the loss of a tiny part of me. 

Oops! Is that not the very premiss of hoarding? 

Shit.... I'm screwed.

I digress...

When I have had occasion to organise some the scraps I get storylines in my head, almost seen cinematically with sound effects, chosen cast members (which is quite a laugh in it self as some of the actors are actually dead now...never mind eh. I knew there was a place for CGI) set design, props and locations and most importantly (drum roll...) soundtracks.

Some of that can be found here.