BIG FISH, LITTLE FISH, CARDBOARD BOX

I have a big, dog-eared cardboard box hidden away that I call my 'memory box'.  It's travelled with me from house to house over the years.  I rarely open it.  I've always thought that one day, when I'm old(er), I'll use it to reminisce about my life.  It's full of old school books, stories I wrote and pictures I drew as a child, letters from various people I've known throughout my life (old girlfriends, pen friends and the like), cards and drawings from my kids, tickets to places I've been and may have otherwise long forgotten, and many other things I've thrown in there over the years since I was a teen.  Things to remind me of my life.

One thing I've vaguely remembered over the years, is that on (or around) my 17th birthday - back in 1990 - I wrote a letter.  To myself.  ONLY to be opened on my 40th birthday.  And I thought I'd buried it in my memory box.

With my 40th birthday now looming, I had, in fact, in recent times forgotten about the letter.  It was only by some lucky chance that yesterday evening - six days before my birthday - my girlfriend Lucy decided we should watch the schmaltzy "P.S. I Love You".  And it was whilst watching this - in which Hilary Swank receives letters from a dead Gerard Butler - that I remembered about my letter.

And so it was that last night (after having to turn the film off part-way through before an inconsolable Lucy drowned the cat in tears.  I think it's more that she fancies Gerard Butler than she felt sorry for Hilary.) I began to rifle through my memory box, hoping the letter was in there.  After turning out piles of memorabilia from my life, I eventually found a slightly crumpled envelope near the bottom of the box. Scrawled on the front in teenage handwriting were the words:

To Simon

(open on your 40th Birthday)

So next Friday, 21st June 2013, I have a birthday present to open from myself.  A birthday present which has travelled in time from my own mind, 23 years ago.  I can't remember exactly what it says, but I think in part it contains a list of things to do in case I'd become an old fogey by now.

And if 17-year old Me has told 40-year old Me to do something(s), I'll share it here... and I'm going to do everything I've instructed myself to.

I'm a bit nervous.  Lucy's even more nervous.

Roll on next Friday!!