If love has a sound then it is my father singing Summertime to me as a boy in his rich, deep voice. He's forgotten he used to do that but I can still hear his voice in my head, still hear the words, still see his joyous face. Yet in time will the clarity of this picture fade?

I ask because my memory is a little hesitant these days. Ask it a question and occasionally it wheezes and fumbles. Used to be a time I could recite the last 40 Wimbledon champions without inhaling, but now my brain is a slightly slower processor which has to sort through the warehouse of filing cabinets in my head.