I got down to the bottom of the road this morning and thought, "Bugger, where's my phone*."
Then my internal monologue (I still have one, though these days it often becomes an external monologue, causing passers-by to cross the street and guaranteeing a free seat next to me on the train) moved to, "Will I need it?", I realise that for some of you this question is anathema, for me it isn't. I continued, "Hmm, I am going out with Dean tonight, and my darling may decide to phone me before I get home, so I'd better go and get it."
I returned to the front door and then checked the bedroom - nope. Downstairs to check the sofa - nope. Ho hum, phone up from the landline - success! Well I could hear it ringing - somewhere. I started up the stairs back to the bedroom, the sound faded, I went into the living room, the sound faded. Hmmm? I went into the front garden, the recycling warbled at me! There in the glass basket was a dew-bespattered, very cold phone, I transferred it back to my shirt pocket from whence it had decamped silently the previous evening. Memories of France stir uncomfortably in my noggin (see here for details).
* You have no idea the wrestling (or even wresting) I've had to go through to drop the require apostrophe from 'phone, I still sometimes struggle with the concept of bus, rather than 'bus, let alone fridge and flu, both of which should be gloriously sandwiched between two of the erroneously ubiquitous little buggers.
