Useless Knowledge.

Sometimes you just know stuff. It is difficult to determine the provenance of this knowledge, or why it sticks like a limpet to the hippocampus….(thanks Wiki), while other stuff drifts away, lost in an infinite universe never to be remembered again.

Imagine minute strands of fine silk rippling free and untamed in a light breeze. Your brain’s job is to catch the strands and braid them into a ribbon…and on completion of this task, you will have remembered what you had forgotten, probably some useful information…..like the contents of the shopping list or the name of your younger child.

On the other hand, imagine you are walking back from the park with The Wattmeisterin and The Wattmutt. It’s a lovely, mild evening in Spring. You overhear a couple speaking in a foreign accent.

“What language do you think they are speaking?”, asks TW.

“Italian,” answers The Wattmeisterin with typical conviction. “What do you think?”…..(this is our most favourite game).

“I think they were conversing in Romanian, because 38% of the population of Romania speak Italian and they are pretty good at French too.”

“How do you know that?”, she asks.

“My love, I know it in the same way I know that Ben Macdui is the second highest mountain in the UK, that Bustino finished fourth in the 1974 Epsom Derby and that ‘yo atropellĂ© un gusano’ means ‘I ran over a worm’ in Spanish.”

There is a moment of silence as The Wattmeisterin processes the magnificence of being married to the possessor of such a substantial vault of useless knowledge….like tar on the brain, stuck there for all time, before reverting to reality.

“When you went shopping this morning, did you remember to buy milk?”, she asks.

“Oops”.

 

 

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