Two slithers of my past:

I'm four yours old - possibly three, possibly five.  We're driving back from a holiday in Bournemouth along the old A30 (a bit that has long ago by-passed - though the memory of this incident is so strong I could you take you there now)  We stop, probably to let me have a pee.

I dance around, obviuosly happy.  The au pair scolds  me for ignoring how ill my mother is.  I think she has a headache and rheumatism (and her marriage is breaking up).  I take the au pair to mean I should be unhappy if my mother is.

Then, 16, 18 years later, c1965:

I'm walking across Trafalgar Square with my wife.  She is having a black depression.  How can I make things better for her?  I feel frantic.  "What's the matter with you?" she snaps.

"Well, you are so depressed..."

"Just because I'm in a bad mood, doesn't mean you have to be."

I try to cheer up for, her sake.