The true extent of the way in which my day could go wrong has only just revealed itself. Having upset just about everyone I know by being a thoughtless git, I decided that I needed to get out. To alter my frame of reference.
Last autumn I bought a small sailing dinghy. I love water, I love to be outside, I love being scared and I love being the Captain of anything. Master and Commander. In control (I wonder why). I am a fairly competent sailor with experience in dinghies and racing yachts, but this thing really frightened me. It is whippy and unstable and agressive and I need more time during milder weather in order to tame the beast. I had a few goes before it got really cold, but then I put it away and resigned myself to a winter of laundry, logs and lunches for the men. Or so I thought.
I woke up in the middle of the night recently, firstly bemused by a friend's claim that the only photograph of himself in existence is a passport photo (think about that one, we'll come back to it) and secondly, vaguely remembering leaving the boom and sail of the boat in the Clubhouse. I'm not generally a flake, so this bothered me. So, my plan to get out settled on going there, unlocking everything, looking for the bits and taking the small white terrier for a run around the lake. Found the sail. Forgot to look for the boom. Forgot to walk the dog. Forgot I even had a dog. Would appear that the jerkishness is going to run and run, so sorry everyone. And Mink Trumper,sorry, I totally messed up lunch.
So is he a spy, or a criminal, or a nark? Did a past life explode, or his house burn down. Or perhaps his ex got custody of all the photos including the ones of him as a baby, (unlikely surely, why would he/she want them?) I don't dare ask. Well, not while I'm putting my foot in my mouth every time I open it.