The goal of my walk today, as I stated here before heading out, was Bamford, a village I'd spent a few weeks in in 1978 when I was 12. I can't remember anything very much about this holiday at all, or rather I can't remember Bamford at all and wanted to know if going back would prompt any recollection whatsoever.
Disappointingly, I had no proustian moment of memory flooding back in all its vivid detail. The past and the person I was then felt very distant. I felt quite ghost-like myself as I haunted the streets of Bamford (there aren't that many), in the hope of feeling something, of catching a glimpse of the 12 year old me disappearing round the corner ahead.
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