Memory of boiling the kettle dry.

Here is an old memory I had lost:

Just now, while writing the previous Blog Entry, I boiled the kettle dry.  (Eventually the metho is used up and the fire goes out, but the kettle could have been red hot by then.  Sometimes I find plastic things on the table melted.)  This time I remembered how, long, long ago when I lived in Parkville I did the same thing with the electric jug which was metal, but the plastic handle melted off and dripped to the counter and the hot base burnt a round hole in the laminex (tm) benchtop.  I bought new laminex of the exact size, then prised off the old laminex, only to find to my great amusement and apparent everlasting memory, that a previous tenant had done the same thing, because a similar burn was on the laminex below that had not been removed but stuck over. 

Another memory,  29-3-14

Thinking about Auntie Nessa.  She had come from Sydney and met some peopel including my Mother and they were friends and I was supposed to be a friend of her children, two girls of extreme ugliness and stupidity, only exceeded by their older brother.  I hope they don't read this.  The Father was also a Norm, and be became very big in the State Government doing something Medical as I recall.  The Mother's Father had written a book about sharks, so they went back to before recent times.  Now I think about it, I don't recall my and their Fathers being together at all.  I just don't recall them in any memory of being there for dinner, which involved sitting round a big table and I know Norm was at the top and I think I never ever once called him Uncle Norm, but I occasionally said Auntie Nessa, mainly to remind her that I was allergic to tea towels, so I was excused from helping with the washing up, as all the other children were expected to do.  I was named after an Uncle who had suicided when his fiance, Rosa, ditched him.  Not knowing that at the time, decades later, I had first a Rosa whom I ditched and then a Rosie who again ditched me.  My life consists of the same experiences that keep repeating.  Perhaps that Norm was like the missing younger brother for my Father?  Where did thy go before and after dinner?  Why can't I even remember my Father sitting at the table, which he must have done.  Perhaps the Fathers sat together at the end, with the Mothers at the other end.  I know the brat of a brother sat opposite, with his raw peas and carrots.