At what age should a person start writing their autobiography? More importantly, is it ever appropriate to do so? I think the answer to the latter question is yes. How often are members of a family discussing something which happened decades ago, but nobody present quite knows all the facts. Inevitably somebody comments that their grandparent would know more about it. But, alas, they’re gone. My mother was the font of family knowledge for many years, and she shared a lot of it with my siblings and me, but not everything. Nor is she around any longer to fill in the gaps.

So perhaps nothing I have to say about my life, and the people associated with me, is particularly interesting, but maybe some of what I recall will matter to somebody, if only a small part, and only to a few people.

So unless I cause a great outcry of protest, I plan to devote at least part of this blog in the near future to reminiscing about my life. Hopefully I will concentrate on the people I have known and events I have enjoyed, but if some of it happens to be specifically about me, I hope it does not bore anybody too much. Assuming anybody is actually reading this blog.