Memories

I have never had a very good memory. Maybe the truth is that I have always been too lazy to actively assign events or whatever to my storage device. I know that there are methods that can enable a more functional memory, and one that intrigues me is the memory house. In this, one holds a three dimensional image of a house, palace of whatever you wish.  Once this model is stored, then items can be allocated to rooms or locations within that place. The theory is that recall is made so much simpler as one has a concrete filing system to search.  I confess that I have not tried this, as the effort involved would be daunting and besides, I don't really have much that I need to remember these days. There is a calendar in the kitchen and significant events are recorded there.  My passwords for virtually everything are stored in my very smart telephone, so all I need to recall is the passwords for the phone and for the password file.
I was reading the other day about people that remember numbers, in particular the digits following the decimal point in Pi. I can remember 3.14 and that is about it, but there are some out there that can remember hundreds or even thousands of decimal places.  For the life of me I cannot see how a memory palace will help there.
Years ago, I was keen on amateur dramatics and took part in a number of plays. Learning lines was always tricky but now and then I did manage it. I went to a teacher training college and became friends with those who were on the drama course. As a result, I got co-opted into a number of their productions. One notable play was Sheila Delany's A Taste of Honey. I had a fairly significant role in that one and tried very hard to get to grips with the script. By opening night however I was far from word perfect but managed to muddle through somehow.  I wasn't alone in my incompetence though. The worst moment came when we, the two leading characters came on stage for act two,  and Vicky(sorry Vicky) immediately launched into her opening speech for act three. It might have been doing the audience a favour had we carried on, especially as she was blissfully unaware, but I managed to communicate to her that she was  "in the wrong bloody act!" and we ad libbed our way back to where we should have been. It was a very uncomfortable moment and probably worse for the producer, whose assessment was based on the performance.
I am of an age now when the whole memory thing is getting worse. I know that my short term recall is declining and that it is unlikely to improve. As my next door neighbour, many moons ago, used to say - "Old age does not come by itself."