Doofus

[caddyman]

When ellefurtle went home last Wednesday morning, we found out in no short order that she had left her phone at the Athenaeum Club, which somewhat reduced the opportunities for communication except when we were both sat at a computer. Annoying, to be sure, but these things happen and we managed.

It's a bit slushy I know, (all together now, aaahhh) but texts have been known to have been sent. Not this week. Ho hum. Not too much of an inconvenience as I say, though, since I knew that she was coming back on Friday, so all was well.

The week, such as it was has been chronicled in as much detail as I care to give it. Neither a really bad week, nor an entirely good one. As per usual it has been fine for me, but mixed for the family. My brother in law had his heart attack, but seems to be recovering (to the point where my sister is instituting anti lead-swinging measures as a precaution), the family took Dad out to a country pub for an early birthday dinner, which was good news (as is the news that he seems to be regaining some facility with telling the time) and Mum finally heard from the DWP and has been awarded a pension credit of £24 each week. Not a huge amount admittedly, but very helpful.

Friday was pretty much a normal day, already chronicled except for the fun trip back from work. Everything managed to go wrong with the Northern Line (again) so I decided to keep my blood pressure under control and catch the bus. I knew this would take forever, but at least I would be moving and not jammed on an immobile train underground getting hotter and more wound up. In the knowledge that I would be late, I phoned ellefurtle to warn her about the delay, but got cut off by the Orange messaging system pretty much after having said "Hi, it's er... me...um" etc. So I texted her safe in the knowledge that she would be able to pick up the message when she arrived at the Athenaeum Club.

Imagine then, if you will, my worry when I arrive home suitably soggy (yes, it decided to pour down because I was using the bus and had to make a change at North Finchley), to find the place in complete darkness. I fumbled my way down the passageway and find in the murk, the wrapping paper Miss Furtle has been carrying around for the past few weeks. Inside the flat, on the floor, I discover a notebook with a short note in it, "Bry, I have forgotten my key...". Not unnaturally I feel, my next thought is "where the hell is she?" Of course, had I not had my thumb over the bit of the note that said she was in the pub, I need not have panicked.

Wandering a few minutes later, into the Bull & Butcher, the closest and chavviest pub on the High Road, I see Miss Furtle reading the paper and husbanding a pint of cider, whilst trying to look inconspicuous. Relief all round. "I think everyone thought I had been stood up" she says, "I got some sympathetic glances".

"And I kept very quiet when the police turned up to arrest a couple of blokes on the next table".

There are consequences to forgetting your mobile in this day and age.