In which forgetting things sends my day and my carefully laid plans veering into disaster
I am browned off with my memory loss. On Friday, I started my day off calmly, with a plan, but my rubbish memory sent my plan to hell. I had planned to go to the post office to post a parcel, which is is two minutes from the daughter’s flat, where I was going to water her plants while she’s away, then I would go on to the opticians for a checkup. A cleverly organised round trip, perfectly timed, and I could take the dog in the car, because it has separation anxiety. Off I went, got to the post office, posted the parcel, but just as I was about to drive to the daughter’s flat, I realised I had forgotten her keys. Damn. Did I have time to drive home and get them? Yes, just about. Drove home, collected keys, drove back, watered the plants. But guess what? I’d forgotten my three pairs of glasses. Drove home to collect them, rushed to optician, 10 minutes late. And I was still calm. Miraculous. Until I had to pay, but couldn’t, because – bad luck – I had left my cash card at the post office. I hoped.