I sympathise with his views on this, and indeed I agree with a lot of his humourous sayings.
Whenever I meet some people I have not seen for a while, at parties for instance, they approach me and start a conversation as if we've never been separated over the years. They start talking about this and that and all the time I'm trying to remember who they are, what is their name, and where and when we first or last met and in what circumstances.
They prattle on and I'm half-listening, nodding politely and smiling and saying things like "how interesting ... I never knew that ... I understand ..." and other meaningless phrases whilst I try to remember who the hell they are.
I sometimes, politely of course, break off the conversation and say something like, "must circulate ... we need to catch up again some other time", and then I go to other people at the party and ask surreptitiously who that person I was speaking to is. Often I am told their name and I am none the wiser as to who they are or where I met them.
Now then, it is not really my fault if I forget a face or a name is it? Somehow, there's something in my brain which stops me from remembering certain information. Perhaps my brain defines the information as low priority and like a computer it deletes it or confines it to an archive file rarely accessed or read.
The fact is, I don't remember certain faces or names, especially at parties, and particularly after a few drinks.
So why is it this man got a little angry when, at a party last week, I did not know who he was. He went on and on talking and talking and after half-an-hour or so I could not recall who he was.
My brain started asking me questions: "Was he the guide at the local sewage works where we went for our annual works outing? Our company always arranges an annual event for the staff to thank them for their good work. Last year it was a picnic at the sewage works. Was this man our guide, I wonder?"
"Did I meet him in prison perhaps? I did a tour of a prison up North as part of my job and met a number of staff there. Is he one of those people, or an ex-prisoner perhaps? But then, what is he doing at this party miles away here in London?"
"I know ... he is the man who got his head stuck in the railings in my aunt's metal garden fence. I always try to remember fences, more than I remember people. So please don't take offence should we meet and I don't remember you. I remember his ears well. They stuck out like an elephant's and held his head stuck in the fence!"
As I was trying to think clearly, having downed at least two whiskies, he noticed my glazed look and said, "You don't remember me do you?"
I was taken aback by this sudden assault and leant forwards almost losing my footing and falling over him.
"I'm really saddened and affronted," he said, "you don't remember me. We went to school together and when aged twelve we used to steal apples from the Convent and Sister Anastasia caught us once and told Father Emeritus."
"Oh ..." I said, trying to remember who Sister Anastasia was and who is Father Emeritus. Why is my brain letting me down after only three whiskies?
Then he gave me an opening when he said, "I remember you. You're Quentin, you're Horatio's twin brother and we were in the same class at school!"
I must admit that for a while I had to think hard whether I was Quentin or not. I don't remember having a twin brother. My parents never told me. I remember them calling me many names as I grew up, but Quentin was not one of them.
"Actually," I slurred my words with some authority, "I am not Quentin!"
"You must be Horatio then," he insisted, "you two always looked identical."
"Nope ... not Horatio either!" I said with more than a modicum of satisfaction.
"Who are you then?" he asked in exasperation
"I'm really saddened and affronted," I said, "that you don't remember me. Now we're even and both saddened and affronted! Nice to have met you. Must circulate. Great party this. I like parties because I always meet new and interesting people at parties."
