Awhile ago I found a ticket to a Joe Satriani concert in the suitcase atop my wardrobe; that’s it below.
I was very much into Satriani at the time and still am; in June 2011, I listed his Flying In A Blue Dream as one of my top fifteen albums. I remember running along the seafront at Blackpool in 1990 late at night listening to The Forgotten (Part Two) as waves crashed against the rocks, something that made me feel great to be alive. Yet I have no recollection at all of the December 1995 concert at Wembley Arena. I must have been there, surely?
How then can any system of justice, criminal or civil, entertain prosecutions of historical cases on the fragmented confabulations of head cases, attention seekers, and plain, old-fashioned liars?