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I WAS fascinated to read in a newspaper about an American who has such an astonishing memory that she can recall everything she's done on every day back to 1980.

The 42-year-old woman, who has spoken about her very rare condition for the first time, likens the experience to living a split-screen life.

On one side is what she's doing in the present, while on the other, the memories keep flooding back from almost 30 years.

Scientists are so fascinated they've even come up with a name for the power - hyperthymestic syndrome - and one boffin has written a book about her.

I'm interested, because I think I may have a very similar condition, only mine is so randomly selective that scientists have absolutely no interest in me, won't come up with a daft name and won't return my calls about a possible book deal.

I am, it has to be said, brilliant when it comes to recalling completely pointless information.

I can name all the 11 primary school boys who make up the Navigation Road Junior School football team that acts as my computer screensaver, despite the fact that I can barely remember the names of people I meet on a regular basis.

I can sing all the words to the theme tune to Top Cat.

And I know the name of the characters in Charley's Angels, The Champions and the participants in The Wacky Races.

For some bizarre reason, I can even remember the registration plate of the Morris Minor owned by the Irish family who rented us their farmhouse in Wexford in 1971.

But for some reason, I cannot remember to put the bin outside the front gate every Wednesday.

I can rattle off the Manchester United team which won the 1968 and 1999 European Cup Finals, with substitutes.

Yet I can never remember to send a card when any member of my family, apart from my wife and daughters, celebrates their birthday.

I can even name the entire Magnificent Seven - even the one nobody can recall - and yet I will always leave my car on the yellow line outside our office for too long, much to the delight of our local traffic wardens.

I am sure my parents did not scrimp and save to send me to Manchester Grammar School to help me retain the identities of cartoon and fictional characters, but that's the way the cookie crumbles I'm afraid.

Of course, one man's fascinating information is another's pointless rubbish.

To me, a book filled with interesting facts is a must-buy. Yet to others, my wife included, it is a complete waste of money unless utilised as a doorstop.

I have always wondered whether there was a limit to the amount of information I could pack in to my brain, especially as the past 50 years has proved that it is considerably smaller than the norm.

I fear that the acceleration of brain cell loss has now reached the point where this vital organ cannot useless information without ditching memory functions which can ultimately lead to family displeasure, divorce or potential serious personal injury.

The one thing I have in my favour is that I can only get brighter and I am currently embarking on an exercise to learn one specific fact each day for the rest of my life.

This week alone, I have discovered that it is irredeemably stupid to mow a lawn in flip-flops, that wet dogs do not make pleasant companions on long car journeys and that no man has ever been shot by his wife while he was washing the dishes.

Next week, I hope to remember what I was going to write about this week before I read that newspaper article...

7:00pm Saturday 10th May 2008

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