My wife and I had been looking forward to meeting up with her old college friends for a while, although surprisingly, on the day itself we both felt a little tired and quietly wished we could stay home instead. 

As lunchtime turned slowly into mid-afternoon, my wife busied herself in the garden while I poured myself a long relaxing bath and passed the time lazily getting ready for our night out.

“We need to be walking to the car at 17:45” my wife had said (and this from the person to whom punctuality had, until fairly recently, been a habit that she simply could not get the grasp of).

“Have you got your keys?” She asked three times and each time I patted my pocket to check and replied “yes, dear!” ‘How many times do you want me to check?’ I thought to myself.  The front door clicked behind us and at 17:50 we were walking to the car, amazing. 

The warm day had turned into a bitterly cold evening, so it was a very unpleasant moment when my car failed to start due to the fact that its magic key was not in my pocket at all.  Another key, along with a dead battery from the office phone and some other loose objects had somehow locked together to take on the shape and form of what I swore to be my key ring.  The situation was made worse by the fact that our house had not so long ago been modified by a security consultant who apparently had done a first class job.

I can see her now (and probably will for many years to come) sitting on our front doorstep in her best evening clothes, huddled up in her long black coat, head tucked down low to try and avoid the cold night air. 

I wonder what it is that makes me over confident, so trusting to my efficiency and precision planning?  It’s usually very reliable, but when it goes wrong…

Have a good week,

Harley