I Talk Too Much [antikvár]

Prologue For some people the past is a distant planet. Somewhere they used to live long ago that they can barely even remember now. Somewhere that doesn't really matter any more, in fact. Not me. For me, the past is always there. A story I can never really stop messing around with, trying to figure out how it all happened. Why it all happened. The past comes back to me any time it wants. Often when I least expect it. Sometimes, I will be sitting around and something I thought I'd forgotten about, sometimes just the littlest thing, snaps back into my mind and I think, 'Ah, yeah! Now I get it! So that's what that was all about . . .' Sometimes it's bigger things, stuff that I just can't let go, no matter how hard I try, because it still bugs me. Still gets under my skin and makes me want to have a go. Hit back. Put it in its place. My wife Eileen says it's because I never stop analysing things. That I go too far sometimes and won't stop fiddling with something in my brain until I feel like I've finally worked out what's going on. Only to come back to it again days, sometimes weeks, sometimes years later, and start analysing it all over again. VII