Trick, no treat

Trick or treating in our street tends to be restricted to teenage kids wearing masks. Most residents are scared to answer their door and even though Hannah and Ethan look more cute than scary I didn't think it was worth bothering here.

A friend told me that in her street a pumpkin outside the house indicates the houses that play the trick or treat game, and most do. She invited us over to join the gang that meet at her house and knock on doors for sweets.

This is what the children looked like before they left the house:

This was Hannah towards the end of the evening:

She'd been chewing the top of her witches hat and the dye had stuck fast to her mouth and hands. Whilst the dye clearly wasn't fixed to the hat, it did seem to be permanently fixed to her skin. I haven't resorted to bleach or Brillo pads, yet.

No fault found

Took the motor into the dealership yesterday and gave them four hours to play with it.

Andy, the rather good looking technician, failed to find the source of the problem and I agreed to book it for a whole day of playing today.

The dealer gave me a lift to work and I had the pleasure of intelligent conversation with an Essex Ford driver. OK I lied, conversation was very limited.

In the afternoon I had a call from the lovely Andy who had had six and a half hours to tinker with my automobile.

My opinion of Andy changed. He might be easy on the eye but he was dim. He explained that most new cars take about 15 minutes to shutdown completely after locking, but Mondeos take 45 minutes. I failed to see how this was relevant given the car had lain idle for two days before we discovered the flat battery. It wasn't as though I'd been constantly locking and unlocking the car. "Ah," thought Andy "time for a new tack."

He told me that there was "no fault found" and that the current drain was negligible. Something that contradicted the comedy AA man.

I asked him why I had a flat battery on Sunday if there was nothing wrong. He explained that sometimes during the pre-delivery inspection batteries can have little charge. I failed to understand how this could be relevant as I'd been driving the vehicle for two weeks without any issue.

Andy started to run out of explanations and he resorted to the "If you have the problem again, and I recognise that isn't ideal, give us a call and ask for me, Andy"

As for Andy, I can't say 'no fault found'.

Eejit

Last night I left my phone at the gym. They called ten minutes after they closed to tell me and advised me to collect once they'd reopened.

I did wonder about the good old fashioned customer service model to which I subscribe under which the caller would have asked where I lived and discovering it was a few minutes away they would have offered to pop it round on their way home. I know. What planet do I live on? But if I had been that employee that is what I would have done - honestly, it is.

As my ideal response was not forthcoming I waited until this morning and hauled my derriere out of the door at 6:30am to retrieve my mobile.

I walked up to main reception and it was deserted - all positions closed.

I huffed and puffed and walked to the gym reception where there were two men chatting. In my best haughty voice (I do a good line in haughty voices) I asked "Are there any staff around?"

It transpired that one of the men I addressed was a member of staff but not wearing the usual uniform.

I explained my situation and said he couldn't help. Apparently he'd need access to the safe and the only people with that power were main reception staff who didn't start work until 7:30am.

I stormed off with steam coming out of my ears and venom from my mouth.

I went home, showered, had breakfast, dressed and prepared to leave the house again. I should point out I was wearing some clothes when I'd left the house previously.

On my second visit I was not greeted by Madame Stroppy with whom I've had previous unsatisfactory encounters. I explained my situation and she retrieved a plastic box with a lid and started rummaging. I explained what sort of phone it was and she checked her book to make sure I wasn't trying my luck. I also explained I had been told it was in the safe and she ignored me and continued to rummage. I offered to look through the plastic container but was told that "nobody is allowed to look in there." "Get her. Stroppy Cow." I thought.

Eventually she decided she needed to look in the safe. And she couldn't do this herself, she needed Steve. Steve arrived fairly quickly after the failed radio call and more successful tannoy announcement.

My phone was returned after I left a signature. I'm sure this process could be improved.

That'll be the er...

You may remember I fell out of love with my new car and then, when I realised its faults were due to human error, I fell back in love.

This relationship qualifies as rocky, although at the moment I'm probably more amused and slightly irritated, than annoyed.

My car wouldn't start this evening. It didn't even do a good job of trying. More of a whirr, tick, tick than a grunt and a rev. You can probably tell I'm not overly technical.

Fortunately Dave dealt with the comedy AA man. Where do they find these people? But I guess if your job involves dealing with problems all day everyday you have to be chirpy and cheerful.

Anyway - net result is an unidentified 2.5amp drain. The performing AA man wanted to tell me what was causing the problem, and he'd have loved to fix it, but all he could do was say "That'll be your er...dunno actually, er, the something that's causing that."

The prescription - a dealer visit.

What a pain

Earlier in the week I showed Dave the bruises on my back that had resulted from use of the Backnobber II.

He responded with "I think you might have overdone it."

Sympathy, not sarcasm, was what I wanted.

Lost my baby

We went on a mammoth day trip into London today. We comprises of me, Ethan, Hannah, my brother, his wife and their two children.

Towards the end of the day we'd just walked past Downing Street and were waiting at the stop for bus number 11. And waiting, and waiting.

Anyway, after some pressure from Ethan, we boarded a different bus which would stop at Trafalgar Square where we could change.

We hopped on the bus and in front of us a lady was having a lengthy discussion with the driver. I showed the tickets and waited for some acknowledgement that the driver had seen them. The driver wasn't talking but was waving someone into the bus. It took me a while to realise he meant us, and not the woman he was looking at. As soon as we moved beyond the driver's cab, the bus started to move.

Children trying to walk along a bendy bus, whilst it's moving, is not a good idea and I rushed to ensure everyone was sitting down. It was then that I asked "Where's Ethan?" and I didn't get a response. We looked around but he wasn't with us.

I shouted to the driver to stop, I'd lost my boy. Nothing happened. I kept shouting and everyone else in our party sensed my complete blind panic and joined in with Hannah bursting into tears and all efforts focused on stopping the bus.

Finally the bus stopped but we couldn't open the door. I was screaming hysterically at this point to the driver to open the doors, I'd lost my little boy. I screamed and screamed and, after what seemed like an age, I found an exit. The rest followed.

As we hit the pavement my niece said "Ethan was on the bus" which put me in a quandary. We'd just left the us without looking at every inch of the bus before leaving it. We had though about splitting up but, because Hannah had been so distressed, we decided to stay together. What if we'd just left him on the bus?

My brother, Ian, found a policeman at the side of the road and, whilst he was explaining what had happened, I was running back to the bus stop yelling for Ethan at full volume.

I was frantically looking everywhere, seeing nothing except people staring at me as though I was mad. That didn't stop me screaming Ethan's name.

Shona my sister-in-law was following me with Ian and the children and the policeman and as she ran towards me, a woman said "Is this what you're looking for?"

She was directed towards me and I saw my little boy in the arms of a stranger, crying.

I think I thanked her, but I really can't remember. I just wanted to hug my little boy and let him know everything was OK. My heart was pounding but I was relieved.

Ethan recovered almost immediately. My heart took about an hour to return to it's normal level.

Legs

I think my legs disappeared in about 2002.

I used to wear skirts to work and then I had children and I stopped. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe I just decided one day that I didn't like my legs anymore.

I know when I was pregnant with Hannah I threw away about 90% of my work wardrobe. That unnerved Dave a bit. I think he just visualised loss of income because if I was ditching the work clothes then, in his mind, I was ditching work. What he didn't realise was that I was probably just having a haywire pregnancy hormone moment of madness (which was incredibly liberating).

About two weeks before I returned after maternity leave I went on a shopping expedition to replenish the wardrobe void. And I returned with trouser suits and not a skirt in sight.

One might imagine that this was a blip and that leg exposing clothes might have been acquired on subsequent excursions, but no, nothing, nada. But it's not been intentional, perhaps my subconscious at work?

Therapy

I have decided my back injury should be left untreated. Dave has been nagging me to see someone, either a doctor, a chiropractor, an osteopath, a sports masseur etc. That's because that's what he does whenever he has a problem.

Historically I have followed Dave's therapies. Dave tries an osteopath, I'll give it a go. Dave moves on to chiropractic therapy and I follow suit. Dave experiments with acupuncture and I too get some needles stuck in various body parts. Dave uses a Backnobber II in anger and that's where the problem starts.

So this time I'll be ignoring my husband, and doing things my way. And if things don't improve I'll go and see a doctor and see what he recommends. I've decided that I'm safer relying on a qualified medical opinion.

Retraction

I'd like to retract my previous product endorsement for the Backnobber II.

Yesterday, after clearing leaves, I was experiencing some minor backache. I'm not really used to backache but, luckily for me, Dave is.

Dave asked questions and then started prodding my back to extract a diagnosis. He then suggested I try out his Backnobber II.

Dave explained that the experience should be painful. After a mini tutorial I started upon my excrutiating journey. Actually I gave it my best shot, and inflicted some serious hurt, but I didn't mind because I knew it was doing me good. And immediately after use the pain went.

At three o'clock in the morning I woke up in extreme pain. I couldn't move without it feeling as though I was being stabbed in a multiple stab wound kind of way.

I dragged my sorry arse downstairs to the medicine cabinet and had the last Nurofen and a couple of paracetemol, and waited for the pain to go.

In the good old days I would have worked through the initial backache and, after a good nights sleep, the problem would have gone away.

As it is, I have deep muscle bruising on my back that is providing me with constant pain.

Ouch.

Bleach and Vaseline

Bleach and Vaseline and definitely in that order.

Today was pumpkin carving day. I left it a little later in October this year and I am determined that this one will not go mouldy before Halloween.

This one has been washed in a bleach solution and then all exposed (pumpkin) flesh has been coated in Vaseline.

And you can tell me whether you think my pumpkin carving skills have improved or deteriorated. Pumpkin 2006.

The world in one website

Random. Global. Diverse. Captivating.

I blog, you blog, he blogs, she blogs..., and we sometimes upload images.

This site captures all blog images loaded on Blogger and displays them in a continuous slideshow.

I could watch it for hours.

I'm almost 40

I went out tonight with a good friend. I can't tell you who 'cos she'll kill me.

She got me drunk, seized my phone and sent inappropriate texts as well as encouraging me to do inappropriate texting, she chatted up attractive, young men and told them I was 40, and forced me to smoke cigarettes and then she asked some nice young men to find cannabis for us.

I'm almost 40.

And I'm back home.

Head's a bit woozy and I stink of smoke. I'm going to jump in the shower to get rid of the stench and go to bed. Oh, and everyone else was about 20 years younger than us. I'm too old for this lark.

WTF?

An article in today's Metro amused me:

Why Gordon is @!*%ing right

He'll eff and blind that he told you so but it seems chef Gordon Ramsay is right to encourage bad language in his kitchen.

Swearing at work can improve productivity and boost staff morale, experts have found.

Regular use of expletives helps relieve stress and build team spirit, they said.

And office employees who turn the office air blue can also express themselves more clearly.
...

The study looked at the use of four-letter words and swearing in the office from a management point of view. It followed workers at a mail-order warehouse and used focus groups to monitor staff.

The relevance and importance of using bad language at work was pinpointed and found to have a potentially positive effect.

Regular use of profanity helped 'reinforce solidarity' among staff, enabling them to express their feelings and develop relationships.

Women were found to swear more than expected, especially among other women, and senior staff were less likely to curse.
...

Dumbass customers

I picked up my new car a couple of weeks ago.

It's a bit complicated. It's got screen and buttons and dials and I got a bit lost during my initial introduction. I played around with menus and figured out a few of the toys but had to extract the handbook to read in quiet moments, allowing me to learn about the finer points.

I was a bit in awe of the car because of its complexity. I loved its looks and it was comfortable. I also liked the idea of the gadgetry even if it was a bit intimidating.

On my first few journeys I decided to play with the satellite navigation. Even though I knew how to get to my destinations I pretended I didn't just to have the satisfaction of using the sat. nav. toy.



I was very confused on these first few, and subsequent, journeys. It was as though the satellite's view of my location was irrelevant. The route was displayed but my position on the map bore no relation to reality. My actual location was often a mile or so away from that shown on the display and the guidance didn't advise me when I went off the recommended route.

I started to hate my car. It clearly wasn't listening to me, or in fact taking any notice of me at all. I found myself badmouthing my vehicle to friends and colleagues which is abnormal for me because I'm usually the biggest product advocate.

I booked an appointment for the car. It needed help, and I needed a car that worked.

There was still something niggling at the back of my mind, so I went back to the complicated menu system.

I remembered that when I first looked at the satellite navigation system I chose the Demo Once option thinking it would be useful to see a demonstration, just to get the hang of things. I selected the No Demo option wondering if that would change things.

What a revelation! It turns out that every time I drove the car it was giving me a demonstration of how the navigation system would work, which meant it ignored my actual location and just showed me how the system should work, hypothetically.

I cancelled the car's appointment with the dealer and have been enjoying driving with a working sat. nav. system along routes that I know anyway.

Duxford photos taken by me

Sukhoi pair, originally uploaded by anncardus.

Sukhoi pair doing some pretty aerial work. I think if you click on this image it should take you to the other pictures that I took at Duxford.

Helen's picture

The picture that involved painting a house.

Why bother?

We went to the last airshow at the Imperial War Museum at Duxford today. We took a camera in anticipation of some great 'Kodak moments'.

Our little digital camera was dwarfed by the two foot lenses attached to some serious photographic equipment on display.

The airplanes that were so close to us, were tiny in the pictures I snapped but some will enlarge to be vaguely recognisable.

When I got home I had a quick peek on Flickr to see if anyone had loaded better photos. It was only a couple of hours after the event, but look at what I found:



A Spitfire chasing a Messerschmidt.



Sukhoi 26 doing an amazing display.



Seahawk and F86 Sabre.

And I think this is a Nimrod of some kind but not too sure.

House painting

Helen had an accident yesterday. OK, allow me to rephrase. Some lowlife scum that as a bizarre grudge that has lasted eight years, reversed into my friend knocking her over and injuring her (on the school run, if the attack wasn't bad enough).

The children decided they should paint Helen a picture. As the weather was lovely I suggested they decamp outside.

I set up all of the equipment and then kept an eye open through the open dining room window whilst cooking dinner.

Things were getting a bit messy but they're only three and five so I expect mess, even if it was all over their clothes. They kept getting paint everywhere and coming indoors to wash their hands (and sleeves). And then Hannah came in and said "I've got a message for you."

"Yes...?"

"Ethan has painted the house."

Cue ballistic reaction from me as I go outside to see blue paint on a couple of external walls. Cue Ethan dissolving into tears.

My mood improved when I realised the paint was removed easily with the aid of the hosepipe.

The art is complete and I will post it when the paint has dried and it won't stick to the scanner.

I wonder if all artists are troubled so.

Got a secret?

Got a secret? Then tell someone.

You may, or may not, have heard about this site. It's a site where someone displays postcards that they have received. The postcards have been sent from all around the world and each postcard contains a secret. It's a way for people to share a secret anonymously and it's a great read; sometimes amusing, sometimes very moving, sometimes just daft.

Anyway, worth a browse and maybe even saving to favourites.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

If only I hadn't told you I killed a blue tit, I could have posted a secret. I'll have to think of something else. Any suggestions?

Pidwigeon's other half

Things aren't going too well on the pigeon front.

Once again, last night when I arrived home I saw pidwidgeon, or what I thought was pidwigeon, outside being pathetic and sad next to the back gate.

When Dave got home we went through the now familiar routine of getting the step ladder out and lobbing pidgie back into the safety zone.

It was then that I realised that the pigeon with pathos I'd spied earlier was Pidwigeon's sibling. A closer inspection explained the pathos and it was clear that our unassuming lump of a feline had had a pop. Feathers from the back of the neck were missing.

We discussed wringing the neck as the most humane thing to do, but neither of us are good at killing things deliberately (the blue tit was an accident and slugs don't count). We opted for putting the damaged bird up behind the parapet with its sibling Pidwigeon.

This morning both birds were still safe.

This evening though the poorly bird was safe but the idiot Pidwigeon was again on the floor tweeting for a parent and when a parent bird appeared it was harassed for food.

Unfortunately Dave had reached the end of his tether and couldn't be bothered to give the birds another helping hand. And the birds didn't get a helping hand from me because it takes two and I'm not shinning up a ladder with both hands holding a pigeon without someone holding the ladder.

So tonight, Pidwigeon is taking his chances outside and his lame other half is still protected outside Ethan's bedroom window. Who knows what the situation will be in the morning. Whatever happens, nature is now being allowed to take its course.

Pidwigeon

Well we thought the baby pigeon had survived...and we were right.

But.

I arrived home this evening to find Pidwigeon at the back door, tweeting plaintively. He was in the same position he had been in after Syd had attacked.

He seemed in good spirits, just a bit hungry and not in the least bit scared of me and the kiddiwinks. He wasn't flying away, which worried me.

I locked Syd in the house and we watched from indoors as mummy or daddy pigeon flew down to feed Pidwigeon by regurgitating worms and such like.

When Dave arrived home we once again tried to get Pidwigeon protected by the parapet. He was strong enough to fly out of the box but he still wasn't flying up and away. So Dave donned gloves and lifted the bird up a step ladder and over into the sanctuary that should be safe. I think he also gave Pidwigeon a good talking to.

We peeped out of Ethan's bedroom window and saw parent pigeon feeding the baby again.

So who knows, maybe nature will take its course and maybe Pidgie will be gobbled up by either Sydney or Ginge (the neighbour's cat). But just maybe he might beat the odds.

Cat amongst the pigeons

You may remember I murdered a blue tit.

Well this weekend I had a feeling of déjà vu vis-à-vis bird murder.

I had been into town and was returning home without front door keys so I rang the bell, knowing that the rest of the family were in the house.

After three rings and no response I went for the annoying bell ring to attract attention.

A flustered husband came to the door, opened it and then walked off muttering huffily "There's a pigeon in the garden."

I was a tad confused. We often have pigeons in the garden. The damn birds have taken to nesting in the hoppers that collect rainwater from the guttering. Bemused I followed grumpy hubby into the garden where I saw the issue.

Next to the back door was a fledgling pigeon. On the lawn, and in the cat's mouth, were a small number of feathers. Splattered on the side of the house were a few drops of pigeon blood.

Our frightened bird seemed relatively undamaged. It had obviously thought it was time to leave the hopper nest but hadn't quite mastered wing flapping. Sydney, the cat, had spied an opportunity and pounced.

In the absence of people that know what to do in this kind of situation, Dave and I decided we needed to put the bird somewhere outside, near its parents but out of reach of Syd.

After a bit of thought the parapet above the playroom bay window seemed ideal.

On its first night we checked and pigeon stayed huddled in a corner.

On the second night the pigeon was gone.

I have assumed that the bird survived because Syd didn't have any feathers sticking out of his mouth and the lawn was devoid of evidence too.

I'm hoping this makes up for the blue tit debacle although I would rather the blue tit survived and the pigeon kicked the bucket.

Fighting Satan

Hannah told me that Friday was St Michael's day. I have no reason to disbelieve her and given the religiosity of her school I'm sure she's well informed.

I asked her what was special about St Michael as I'm not very 'up' on saints and their various attributes.

Apparently St Michael fought the devil. I asked "Who won?" I was advised St Michael was victorious.

To celebrate this particular Saints day Hannah drew a picture at school of St Michael with his foot on the vanquished devil's head. I think it's nice that a five year old is exposed to such violent imagery.

Maybe nice isn't quite the right word. Perhaps horrifying is more appropriate.

The old Mars Venus thing again

I've read Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus and over the last week I've been aware of media coverage (particularly Guardian and Radio 4) of Deborah Cameron's book The Myth of Mars and Venus.

It seems John Gray was writing a lot of tosh when he penned his book citing the many gender differences that are now part of our everyday vernacular.

Anyway, as I read around the subject I found a cool website. The Gender Genie takes text (about 500 words) and analyses it so that it can guess your gender.

I selected a couple of my blogs that didn't make it obvious I was female and cut and paste.

Guess what - I'm a man, but only just. The analysis produced a score of 652 for male and 640 for female.

I'm not quite sure what to think, or how to react.

Today, tomorrow

A euphemism for a television is gogglebox.

Maybe in the future we'll call our PCs googleboxes.

Five coins, five moves, five hours

Here's a little coin trick. Nothing tricky about it actually but, as I've found, once one is shown how the trick is done, it's very difficult to remember the solution.

Arrange five coins, as shown.

You now have five 'moves' in which to rearrange the coins as shown below.

Let me outline the rules of 'moves'.

Coins are moved two at a time. Coins don't have to be adjacent, but the spacing between the coins must remain throughout the move.

Coin orientation must remain, i.e. a swivel manoeuvre that turns coins through 180 degrees is not allowed.

During a move, the only coins that can be moved are the ones being touched directly. By this I mean one cannot use a coin to move another coin.

Hint: it may help you to think "over, under, over, under, over", it may not. Also bear in mind that having an incentive to complete the trick is generally proven to be a disadvantage.

The person who showed me this trick had to wait about five hours before I 'got it'. The first person I shared the trick with also took about five hours before they mastered it.

Good luck!

Alternative traffic lights

I experienced something quite strange yesterday.

As I drove down a road I passed signs for roadworks and sure enough I came to a halt as traffic had stopped for the traffic lights at the start of the roadworks.

I waited until the traffic started moving and slowly edged forwards. I then noticed that a significant number of cars in front of me were jumping the lights and travelling through on red. The van in front of me stopped though so I started to wait.

I saw the traffic coming through from the opposite direction and just as the first car came through in the opposite direction our lights turned green, but the traffic kept coming and kept coming.

As soon as the traffic stopped flowing the van in front of me started moving and I was quick on its heels. As I passed by the traffic lights at our end it changed from green to red but that didn't stop the traffic following me. Cars and cars went over at red.

At the other side of the roadworks just as I passed the traffic lights, they changed from red to green but of course the traffic couldn't go anywhere because of the volume of vehicles following behind me.

So for the first time ever I saw traffic lights operating where the traffic travelled on red, and stopped on green.

Shopaholic

I had a personal shopping session today. I have very few opportunities for shopping and booked this because I need an outfit for a wedding.

I think I got quite a good deal.

• I went on a preview sale night and the jacket I bought was reduced by £50
• The bag I bought had a ticket price of £45 but the till registered £36. The bag was dusty so the assistant knocked a further £7.20 off the price
• I opened an account which saved me 10%
• There was a further £40 reduction in my bill because it was a preview evening
• Shopping on a preview evening also earned me a box of chocolates and a perfume sampler ('Christina Aguilera')

All of which was very nice. And then there was the icing on the cake. The personal shopper who served me was late for the appointment and was very apologetic. I'm not sure whether this was a factor but, as we parted, she handed me the following as a 'little gift':

• A tote bag
• A make up bag
• A Hugo Boss body lotion (for women)
• Clinique: moisturiser, facial soap, lipstick, mascara, body butter, eye shadow set and applicator
• Perfume samples for the following: Jean Paul Gaultier 'Classique', Thierry Mugler 'Amen' (x2), Paco Rabanne 'Black XS', Hugo Boss Man 'XY' (x2), Hermes 'Kelly Caleche', 'Ghost', 'Mariah Carey'
• A magazine

But most importantly, I managed to find an outfit for the wedding.

Bringing up baby

Channel 4 are doing another reality TV show disguised as a social experiment. The show Bringing Up Baby pits three very different methods of babycare against one another with real babies and real parents living the experiment.

Now most parents have a strong view about how to bring up a baby, which makes for interesting viewing. I have a clear view of things that worked very well for us as a family, and also understand some of the benefits of the methods used by my parents.

I'm happy to talk to people about what worked for us, but I think it's really important that new parents discover the method that works for them.

Of the three methods in the show there is one that in some way is close to the method we followed in that it stresses the importance of routine. Interestingly for me, this, the Truby King method, is the one that is the least attractive of those on display.

The proponent of the Truby King method, Claire Verity, believes one should avoid eye contact with the baby when it's feeding. Verity also believes that ideally a baby should not be cuddled, particularly in the first week and, when this is allowed, it should be restricted to ten minutes per day. She also believes babies should be left outdoors, regardless of weather, for three and a half hours at a time without any attention and they should left alone even if crying.

I struggle to watch the show when the babies are crying and getting no attention. But the thing that really upsets me is Verity's assertion that the baby's cry is the baby's attempt to manipulate the parents and that ignoring the baby "shows it who's boss."

My reaction is strange because I have used the controlled crying technique which, whilst it doesn't leave a baby for hours, does require a baby to cry themselves to sleep by leaving them for increasing lengths of time before attending to them.

Anyway I have a method that worked for me (both of our children slept well for 12 hours a night at eight weeks of age) and I've seen Verity's approach. Whilst I wouldn't force 'our' method onto any parent, I would suggest strongly that nobody follow the barbaric Truby King method advocated by Claire Verity.

Brain drain

I think I must be losing my mind.

Granted I had a lot to remember today as I was off to Ireland for an overnight trip, but I'm pretty sure that doesn't excuse the poor state of my memory.

This morning I forgot to pop my phone in my bag which has left me feeling incomplete. I feel naked.

I did contrive a plan whereby Tracey could swing past Dave's office, pick up my front door keys, grab my phone from the charger it's plugged into on the kitchen worktop and then bring it to Stansted. This could have worked if Tracey hadn't been working from home today.

In addition to forgetting my phone I also forgot to wear a belt. This isn't a disaster as I have sufficient 'hippage' to hold up a pair of jeans but it didn't stop me from sneaking a look at the airport to see if there was an appropriate substitute. Again, I feel undressed without a belt.

My final, and I consider the most horrific, omission I discovered when trying to store my train ticket. You may remember that I have a special place for storing train tickets. Yes, today I came out of my house sans bra. I forgot to wear a bra. This has never happened before. Granted I have left the house un bra'd before but this has never been unintentional.

Now fortunately I had a couple of bras in my bag so as soon as I got to the office I made a trip to the ladies to rectify the situation, but how on earth could I forget to wear a bra?