Leaving the school this morning, there’s a dog - looks like a cross between a Doberman and a Boxer - he’s straining at his leash, trying to chase the cat that ran past him and barking his head off. Only, he‘s actually the size and colour of a Cocker Spaniel and sounds like that dog saying: “Sausages!” It sets the day up brilliantly, sunshine and laughter.
I’m trying on new trousers and they seem nice, but I’ve a nagging feeling, there’s something not quite right. I finally twig it: One leg is slightly longer - or shorter - than the other (the trouser leg, not mine, thanks very much).
I think I’ve I lost my sunglasses; I suddenly realise they’re not on top of my head as I leave the shopping centre to slum it in the street. They’re not in the changing rooms I’ve visited, I’m resigned to their loss. You know how it is though, when you leave home and you’re halfway down the street and think: Did I lock the front door? And you drive back round the block and you did, but it’s so automatic you forgot you did it? No? Oh.
Anyway, I find the sunglasses. In their case. In the side pocket of the car door. Could’ve sworn blind I never took’em off.
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