Last week I turned my house, office and car upside down looking for my diary.
My life is literally in that little book. Every appointment, meeting, interview and important phone number is in that diary. My menstrual and pay cycles are also well documented in that diary. Not that the two are in any way related.
I was a mess last week. Was I coming or going? Was I Arthur or Martha?
A breakthrough in the mystery of the disappearing diary came last Wednesday with a phone call.
"G'day Kate, it's Danny at Dowerin, I've got your diary."
Come gain, excuse me, or as the young kids say these days WTF? How on earth did my diary end up in Dowerin?
"I won the quiz on your breakfast show last week, you know the Ukulele Quiz? Well I've just received my prize in the mail- great CD, but your diary was also in the envelope."
It went on.
"I'm really sorry, but I've read some of it. I thought it was part of the prize but then I saw all these appointments written in in pen and pencil and realised it belonged to you."
Oh Lord. Has he read about which body parts I have waxed on a regular basis? Does he now know when I'm ovulating? He certainly now knows that I'm not naturally blonde these days.
Horrified, looking to somehow explain my embarrassing mishap, I told Danny at Dowerin that it must have been a blonde moment. Nice work Kate, just in case he didn't already think you had a few screws loose.
Although, it's possible that Danny read enough of my diary to suspect that I may well have had an attack of so called baby brain.
Unable to have a stiff drink to overcome my embarrassment, I think I'll have to buy Danny one when I'm in Dowerin for the Field Days in August.
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