I am a lover of words. This morning I happily typed a word into Wordle, the New York Times sponsored word game.

https://www.nytimes.com/games/wordle/index.html

My answer was correct on the 4th attempt. The word slipped easily out of my brain and I shared my result with my Wordle Whatsapp group.

The word slipped out of my brain almost at the same moment I realised I had no idea what it meant and that I had certainly never used it in a sentence.

I have looked it up now and realised why I have never used it. The word has two uses, musical and psychiatry.

My head has always been full of random thoughts and ideas. Not archived or catalogued in any useful way.

My storage system for knowledge has two distinctive visualised locations. A smart office block where all the necessary and acquired knowledge for life, work and survival is stored. Calmly efficient, beautiful streamlined architecture where busy archivists work happily and effectively. Pulling out information as and when I need it.

The other location where all the fun and interesting, life enhancing stuff is stored is a warm and welcoming Town House with 4 floors. There are always comfy chairs , interesting rugs and warm fires near the haphazard shelves and overspilling store boxes. The archival system is managed by happy individuals who wear a lot of velvet and softly worn linen. Always smiling they serve tea and snacks while I patiently wait for an answer that I know is somewhere in their domain. Mostly they are as efficient as the streamlined, smart office block.

Sometimes however I am turned away from the cosy repository with the promise of an answer arriving later in the day. And so it does. Arriving gently, as if delivered by a silent hot air balloon or by a tiny feather caught in a summer breeze.

Puzzled by my inability to remember, I set off on another task only to be gently disturbed by the arrival of the random fact or piece of knowledge I required 3 hours earlier.

Below is the Wordle word of the day . Do not read on if my spoiler would spoil your day.

I now know exactly why Fugue was in the Townhouse and not the Office Block.

J.S Bach Toccata and Fugue.

I met this piece of music when I was under 6 and knew its name. Which I thought was exactly that, a name.

Like Tom and Jerry, or Laurel and Hardy.

In 60 years I had never given it a thought or a refile.

I absolutely understand both uses of the word.

But what is to happen to poor old Fugue, resting comfortably in a warm and cluttered townhouse of random knowledge for 60 years.

Is he, Fugue was always male, about to be rehoused in an office block of known and retrievable facts. Has he taken his last featherlight balloon trip into my thought processes. I suspect so.

Will Fugue the character be in a psychiatric fugue of his own.

I will allow him a free pass to either dwelling, I know where I would rather be.