I’ve always been able to remember car number plates. Ever since I was a kid. Our first family car, a yellow Mini: original A reg named Primrose. The Ford Anglia, which was forever breaking down: 1965 ice blue C reg that always looked a dirty white colour. The lime green Fiat 127: L reg and hideous, and it’s replacement, the black Fiat 127 with go faster stripes and twin exhaust (really) an S reg, and our first brand new car. And the list goes on. My first car, of course, lodged firmly in the databanks, an Austin 1100 (F reg) and my second, a Mini Metro (X reg). But I can remember all of them. My Ex-husband’s car, a friend’s first car, and every single car I’ve ever owned. It’s a lot.
Given that I can’t remember where I put my most recent cup of tea, or what happened yesterday, it seems strange that my brain should have a data slot for car registration numbers. I’m not a number person. After nearly 2 years I have no idea of my work mobile number, I don’t know my fiancé’s phone number and I struggle to remember the house number. So why this weird ability to recall car number plates that is no use to me – or anyone else? I have no idea. I wish I could wipe the databanks and replace them with something more useful, like remembering where I put my keys, or my phone, or what I was supposed to be doing instead of writing this blog…….
