The forgotten philosopher

Yesterday I was due to have Carrie's boys for the day ... Cam is now nine going on ten, Dan five coming up to six.

Arnolfini reopened a week ago, after a two year closure and refit. Cam has been agitating for months to go there as soon as possible, so that was our first stop. This suited me, since I needed a copy of A Barthes Reader for some work I'll be doing later in the year – and I knew that Arnolfini's bookshop had a copy.

So, we caught a bus into the city and, after being distracted for an hour or so by the delights of the Architecture Centre, arrived at Arnolfini. After spending some time looking around, both at the new interior arrangements of the building and at the current exhibitions, we went down to the bookshop.

Both Cam and Dan were delighted with the bookshop. Cam buried himself in Berlin Street Art. A wide eyed Dan turned the pages of a book on Gaudi, cooing "Wow – look at all this cool stuff!" This gave me plenty of time to stand in the critical section, trying desperately to remember which book I had to buy ... without success.

Eventually we moved on. The Industrial Museum was their next request: just across the harbour, so I promised that we would return to buy books each later rather than have to carry them for the rest of the day. That also meant that I had the rest of the day in which to remember which book I had wanted.

While in the Industrial museum, I remembered. Of course! It was A [NameForgotten] Reader! Now what the hell was the name? For goodness sake, he's the guy who said "The author is dead" and I use his name several times a week ... what is it??

This is what US American friends demurely call "a senior moment". The equivalent term here is "a CRAFT moment" – CRAFT being an acronym for "Can't Remember a Fucking Thing". Whatever you call it, it's a bummer when you're trying to buy a book whose title pivots around a name you can't remember.

After the Industrial Museum we went for something to eat, then spent a while climbing around harbour side near Wapping Road's swing bridge and doing other stuff in town. What was that name? Who said "The author is dead"? I can see his face, I can remember word for word several lectures I've given on him, but his bloody name just won't come.

Jan could tell me instantly, if I asked her. Alas, Jan is not here; nor is she at home, and I happen to know that she forgot to take her cellphone with her today.

At the end of the day, before the bus home, we returned to Arnolfini and its book shop. I gazed once more at the shelves in the critical section, willing the forgotten name to surface ... but it didn't, so I sadly turned away. A CRAFT moment had become an entire CRAFT day.

Back at home, an hour or so later, I told Jan the sorry tale. "Roland Barthes" she said. Of course ... how could I possibly have forgotten that? A Barthes Reader. I've written it down on a piece of paper in my wallet, so that I don't go through the same thing on Tuesday...