Kerre Woodham: How on earth did I forget it?

I'm going to have to find another career. One that doesn't require a memory hard drive. Or at least a career where I don't have to remember people's names.

I mean, you can't be a talkback host when you can't remember proper nouns.

I can pinpoint the moment it was undeniable that the rot had set in. I was talking with a caller about Benji Marshall's shoulder surgery.

She was accusing the Aussies of once again nobbling the Kiwi league team because, she said, Marshall had only dislocated his shoulder and it wasn't serious enough to warrant the club sending him off to the specialists.

I begged to differ. Shoulder dislocations could be serious, I said. Remember... and then it was gone. I knew everything else about the bugger. You know, I said. Captain of the Lions. Parents are doctors. Baby-faced, with glasses. Tana Umaga and Keven Mealamu got into dreadful trouble, you KNOW. And they did.

Thank heavens for instant text messaging. Like sticking their fingers in the dyke, the texters shored up the gap in my knowledge and supplied me with the name via the miracle of modern technology installed in my studio. Brian O'Driscoll - thank you. Yes.

And on the conversation went. But not without me breaking out into a cold sweat. It was clearly the beginning of the end. The first cognitive crack that would eventually lead to intellectual erosion.

Since then I've had it happen several times. Each time I managed to save myself but it was desperate stuff - and thank God for Google. And so clearly, the writing is on the wall.

I used to laugh at my mother and her friends as they conducted conversations about people they knew. Know them they did. They knew every blessed thing about the person under discussion - except their names.

And now it's happening to me. And it's not quite so funny.

Initially I blamed it on the copious amounts of alcohol I used to drink in my youth. But even teetotalling friends have the same trouble once they cross the chronological Rubicon of 40.

And it's so much worse at this time of year when you're away from your natural habitat and you're meeting people out of context. Your butcher at the beach. Or your daughter's teacher at the supermarket.

And while you can get by with a nod and a smile, even a chirpy Merry Christmas most times, it's the stop and chat that can turn a good day bad.

You can conduct conversations that last five minutes - longer than a New Zealand top order batsman's innings, for heaven's sake - and come away without any idea who you've been talking to.

You walk away, smiling and waving, but inside, your mind's in turmoil. Who the hell was that?

Like a bit of Christmas ham stuck between your teeth, it irritates you. It niggles away at the back of your mind until suddenly, apropos of nothing, you remember that they were the lovely person who used to make the coffees at your favourite cafe before they left to open a Pilates studio - or whatever - and just like that, the planets are back in alignment.

God, it's infuriating.

I suppose, like droopy boobs, flabby triceps and coming round to the idea that maybe the Nats have a few good ideas, it's an inevitable part of ageing.

But perhaps we over-40s could make a pact. Let's - when we introduce one another - do it properly. Jane, this is Di. Jane, you met Di at the Wellington races when we were guests at the Foster's tent.

Perhaps that's a bad example. Nobody remembers anyone or anything when they were guests in the Foster's tent at the Wellington races.

But you know what I mean. Hi, I'm Kerre, my daughter was at Freemans Bay Primary many years ago - that sort of thing.

An introduction that plants you firmly into a time and place that will offer the poor beleaguered baby boomer you've just been introduced to a fighting chance of making it through the requisite social niceties.

And as for those arrogant morons who march up to you and say, "Bet you don't remember me!", give them both barrels. Tell it like it is.

I've had it happen to me a couple of times and I have no qualms about icily responding, "You're right. I don't", and turning on my heel. Who on earth thinks they're so important that somebody is going to remember them from a two-hour business meeting 20 years previous?

Dear me. Let's, as part of our New Year resolutions, make a vow to one another that when we meet, we'll do proper introductions.

And if we know the face but can't remember the name, let's just be honest and front up. It will make life so much easier.