So what year was that exactly? Some year in the 1990s, but off-hand I've no idea which one. And was our falling out with x and y really the worst thing that happened in it? I suppose I must trust myself and agree that it was but, really, of all that anger and hurt not a squeak remains. It's not something I think about much- and if I do it is perfectly clear to me that I behaved like a prat. So did they. Honours were equally divided.
The poem, of course, anticipates my eventually feeling this way.