The play am doing at the Fringe (I may have mentioned it!) is set in the early 1990s.

So, I’m mid-story, on stage and recounting events from then, when I stop; approach the audience and say, ‘At least I think that’s what happened?’

I then confess to having, for a while, remembered a more flattering version of events.

What follows is a whole section about memories and perspective – it’s got me thinking about my memory.

Quite a few of my siblings have been visiting Glasgow and staying at mine recently. Family gatherings have ensued. Talk about shared memories.

Everyone has completely different recollections for the same events. It’s like we were all brought up by different parents. We hardly agree on anything except; we all like burnt food, scratchy towels and the big light off!

Growing up, there were so many of us, that my mother could often be heard shouting out various names before she remembered the right one. Years ago, between acting jobs, I was a “warm up girl”.

One of my gigs was STV’s Scottish Women. My job was to meet the audience, about 60-odd women; as they came in. Before Kaye Adams would come on to do the show; I was the entertainment and my party piece was to remember everybody’s name.

When I asked their name, I’d listen with what I imagined was a “soldering iron” forward focus; then once upstairs in the studio, I’d move along the row naming folk. If I got stuck, I’d do the opposite, and instead visualise my brain ease backwards. The name would pop in to mind and be on my lips before any searching for it.

Where I got this “technique” from, I don’t know, but the combo of focus and ease is key to learning my lines today.

My play is a one woman show and an hour long, so folk are always asking me how I manage to remember all the words, to which I answer, because of what I do, I have acquired a “memory-muscle”. Even still, when first handed an hour-long script, it does feel like an impossible task.

It would be a big mistake to think reading it over and over; or even to try early on, to what we call, “run it”, i.e. act it out constantly, would ever work. This would be like running the tap with the plug out and waiting for the sink to fill up – you would only drain yourself, feel unfulfilled and dilute any meaning it held for you.

The only way to learn it off by heart is to tease out every bit of meaning and significance from the story, bit by bit.

A good director will, at first, allow you to wallow, go off on tangents and paraphrase the script, as you get to know the story. By the time you are show ready, it’s like turning a tapestry round to face the right way and you no more need to go back to the script than a seasoned driver would feel the need to break down the various stages of how to drive a car again.

When students say to me, “I’ve written a play”, I say, “No you haven’t, you’ve written a script”.

You can put a script in a drawer, but you can’t put a play in one.

And finally...

You know you’re old when you walk into rooms without knowing why.