“My Morgan”

“My Morgan!” Hayley clasps the teddy firmly and looks challengingly at Miles. Hayley is a stirrer.

Of course, Miles reacts. Morgan is his special bear who shares Miles pillow at nightr, comforts him when he is sick, and accompanies him to scary places – like doctors or hospitals.

Miles gets frustated when Hayley disrupts his games. Today there was a bit of a tussle when Miles brought out his walkman cassette player to show me.

“When I want to play it,” he said, “I hide under my bed, then Hayley can’t find me.”

Little sisters can be pests. But brotherly love wins out in the end. This week, Hayley got her hand caught in a door and Frances had to take her to the hospital for xrays in case the bones were broken. Hayley came home distressed about the splint on her hand.

That night, Miles tiptoed in to Hayley’s room, with his favourite bear under his arm.

“Morgan says he’ll sleep with Hayley till her hand gets better,” he told Frances.

It must have helped. Hayley’s hand is a bit bruised, but she’s using it normally and it’s going to be fine.

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Twinkle, twinkle

I’m sure no club has meetings like our World Vision meetings. Someone always seems to inject a note of hiliarity into our business session. This week it happened when someone excused themself to go to the toilet. That prompted another member to tell about an incident…

“I was shopping with my friend,” she told us, “and she said she had to go and have a ‘twinkle.’ I stayed and browsed through the shop for a few minutes, then I went on to meet her at the toilet. When I went in, I could hear someone having a ‘twinkle,’ so I sang, ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star!’

Then the door opened, and out walked a total stranger!”

“Do you know whose birthday it was yesterday?” I asked Miles. (My 5-year-old grandson.)“Whose?”

“Olive’s!”

“Did her friend’s come and visit?”

“Well,” I said, “when I was gardening, the ginger cat came from over the road and Olive and Oscar chased him up the footpath.”

“And were they wearing party hats?” asked Miles.

I really enjoy my two grandchildren. The other day I brought Miles here in my car. He said he knew the way, so just to trick him, I detoured along a couple of back streets. The trip from their house to mine would take less than 5 minutes. When Miles got out of the car, he said, “I’ll have to go to the toilet – it was such a long trip!”

22- month-old Hayley is always happy to stay with me. Last time I minded her, I said to her just before Frances was due to come home, “Mummy will come back soon.”

Hayley sang, “Mummy come back, quack, quack,quack, quack!” I laughed as I realised she was thinking of her favourite song, “Five Little Ducks.” You know, the one that goes – “Mother duck went quack, quack, quack, quack and only four little ducks came back!”

Hayley was seated at my computer looking at pictures of herself when Frances was ready to take her home. “We’re going home now, Hayley,” said Frances.

Hayley didn’t even take her eyes off the screen. “Bye, Mummy, see you later!” she said.

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My next door neighbour has been away this week. He left me his house key so I could go in and get the food for his cat, Squeaky. He had divided Squeaky’s food into meal-size portions and put it into used yoghurt containers.I’d rather not go into his house every time I feed Squeaky, (she eats outside, anyway) so on the first day, I took the cats meat out of his freezer and brought it home and put it in my fridge.On the third day, I opened the yoghurt container and found….. Raspberry Yoghurt! It had already thawed for a couple of days, so I couldn’t refreeze it, so I replaced it with a new one. Our local shop only had Strawberry Yoghurt. I wonder if he’ll notice the difference!

We’ve had a few storms lately. Last Sunday we had hail. I don’t think the hailstones were quite as big as golf balls, but they were pretty big and would have caused a lot of damage if there had been a strong wind.

Joel and Frances had to go out on Sunday, so they left Nelson (their Corgi) with me, because he is afraid of storms. (He hid behind my bed during the storm.) He stayed overnight, which meant the cats wouldn’t come in until about midnight when they knew Nelson was bedded down in the laundry.

They always wait until I’m almost asleep before they decide they really wanted to be out. First, Oscar demanded to be let out, then half an hour later when I was getting dozy again, Olive decided she wanted out, too.

The rest of the night went something like this:

1 a.m. Olive howled at the window till I got up and let her back in. She jumped on my bed and swore at Ingrid (who sleeps at the foot of my bed) before snuggling up against me. Purr, purr!

2 a.m. Oscar howled and scratched on the door till I opened it, then he ran away down the stairs. I went back to bed.

2.15 a.m. Oscar howled at the door again. I got up and let him in. He jumped on my bed, smacked Ingrid, and rolled Olive down the hall. Nelson barked.

I tried to sleep, but Oscar kept jumping on me till I put him out. After I got back in bed, Olive decided to go out too. Nelson barked.

3 a.m. Olive howled at the window till I let her in again. She went straight to the litter tray and used it.

3.10 a.m. Olive went out again and Oscar came back in. Nelson barked.

4 a.m. Oscar jumped on me until I put him out again. Nelson barked.

4. 30 a.m. Ingrid started to throw up. We almost made it to the door in time. Luckily, it was just a small furball. Nelson barked.

4.40 a.m. Nelson still barking. It was almost daylight, so I let him out into the back yard.

4.50 a.m. All the neighbours dogs barking. Nelson had started up the neighbourhood orchestra. I brought him back in again.

5.30 a.m. Ingrid rattled the front door and demanded breakfast. I tried to ignore her.

6 a.m. Still awake, so I got up. Oscar came in, lay down and slept all day!!

I think those animals are getting a bit spoilt.

Our Toastmasters meeting this week had a “Halloween” theme. If you like, you can read my new speech, “The Phantom Motor Bike Rider.”

The weeks are whizzing by – and I’ve written nothing for this month. Here’s a quick recap of some of the events this month.

Brisbane Writers Festival

South Bank was transformed into a tent city. The area along the river bank behind the Performing Arts Centre was dotted with big white marquees where the various events were held. You don’t have to be a writer to enjoy a writers festival – just a lover of books and reading. I attended on one of the days with a friend and we gleaned a glimpse of what goes into the process of writing. The session on script writing was particularly interesting. I’ll certainly have a deeper appreciation of the work that goes into the plot and dialogue in movies and TV shows from now on.

However, as someone once said, the mind can only absorb as much as the seat can endure. After several sessions, we’d had enough culture for one day, so we explored the market stalls that are held at South Bank every weekend. I bought a pair of leather sandals to replace my old ones.

Toastmasters Area Conference

I love the way our Toastmasters members throw themselves wholeheartedly into every event. Our club hosted the conference this year. Anyone who could, was at the hall by 7.30 a.m., setting up tables, and decorating the room. It was a really good day and our club did well in all the contests. I love meeting old and new friends from the other clubs.

World Vision Street Stall

We were kept busy all morning and raised over $700 for the “Safe Motherhood” project in Ethiopia. I’ve started potting more plants for the next stall, but I don’t know if they’ll be ready in time. We’ve had our regular jumble sales, too. I’ve just spent most of the day sorting clothes and crockery for the next one.

World Vision Club Birthday

We don’t have a party every year, but we felt like celebrating our 26th birthday. We decorated the room with streamers and balloons. My ears nearly popped off trying to blow up the balloons. “Wouldn’t it be ironic,” I said, “if after 26 years, we pegged out trying to blow up the balloons to celebrate!” But then I remembered someone had used a balloon pump at the Toastmasters conference and was able to borrow it.

It was one of the best events we’ve had. I had to keep finding extra chairs as more people arrived. We had a lot of laughs, playing “Articulate” and trying to hit a balloon into a basket.

Poetry Workshop

No, I’m not a poet, though I can write doggerel if required. My friend and I heard about the workshop at the writers festival and decided to check it out. It was run by a writers group that meets in the city. Real writers. It was interesting but I think we were a bit out of our depth.

Friendship Club

Not many came this month, but we had fun playing “Skipbo” and a very silly conversation about millionaires and wire coat hangers. The only part I can remember went something like this:

“We throw them out if they come into the shop.”

“What, the millionaires?”

“No, the coat hangers!”

Babysitting

I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with my grandchildren, Miles and Hayley. They are growing up so fast, every moment with them is precious. But I’m going to write more about them next time.

Speech No. 4 in “The Entertaining Speaker” Manual

Date presented: March, 2001

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The objectives of this speech were:   

• To develop an entertaining dramatic talk about an incident.
• Include vivid imagery, characters and dialogue.
• Deliver the talk in an entertaining manner.

Time 5 to 7 minutes.

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An Alarming Experience
What is it? I wake in fright. And the cat dozing on the end of my bed leaps in terror and runs headfirst into the wall. I sit up in bed, my heart pounding and my mind whirling in confusion. The still night air is ripped apart by a shrill piercing sound.   Is it the phone? Who could be ringing me at this hour? I grab my bedside phone and hold it to my ear. But still the insistent ringing continues.

Is it…it must be …the smoke alarm! Horror! The house is on fire!

I leap out of bed in panic. No time to salvage anything. My one thought is survival. I rush out into the hallway. Where’s the fire? The air is clear. No smoke. No hungry red flames!

I rush from room to room, searching and sniffing for fire. There’s not a trace. But still the smoke alarm shrieks on, jangling my brain with its strident sound.

Is this some kind of joke? How dare it wake me from my exhausted sleep! I switch on the light to see if the alarm can be turned off. Obviously, the only way to stop it is to remove the battery. The alarm is set high on the ceiling.

“Just call us when the battery needs to be changed,” the man had told me when he installed the alarm. “Don’t try to climb up and do it yourself.”

Wouldn’t he just love to be called out at 2 a.m.?

I stand on a chair. The alarm is still out of reach. It shrills on and on. Surely the neighbours can hear it? It’s a wonder no one has phoned the fire brigade. I’d feel pretty silly if they arrived, but at least someone might be able to stop this racket. I look out the window.

No sign of life anywhere. The neighbourhood sprawls in blissful slumber.

I grab my broom, reach up and prod the alarm. After a few bashes it gives a final shriek and goes silent. Phew! Peace at last. I turn out the light and flop back into bed. My heart rate has almost returned to normal.

But what’s that? A shuffling sound comes from the corner of the room. It’s obvious that I am not alone. I watch in transfixed horror as the door of my wardrobe slo-owly creaks open. Someone – or something is about to emerge.

I try to scream but the scream sticks in my throat as out… creeps … the cat!! She nervously resumes her place on the end of my bed and carefully washes her face.

With a sigh of relief I collapse weakly on my pillow and finally fall fast asleep.

Suddenly the room reverberates once more with the earpiercing sound. That infernal alarm again!

I leap out in fury, turn on the light, grab the broom and whack the alarm. Again and again. It stops – then it starts, stops and starts again. Each time I put the broom down, the noise starts, pounding in my brain, taunting me.

“I’ll fix you for good!” I yell. I keep ramming and bashing it with the broom handle. The alarm seems as though it will never give in. Well, neither will I. I’ll kill it this time!

Finally, I give it a mighty whack. The alarm loses its grip on the ceiling and lands at my feet, still protesting loudly. I perform the final act by wrenching out the battery.

Silence. My head is still ringing, but the night is at rest once more.

I turn the alarm over. The warning on the back – which I hadn’t been aware of – says, “Gives a warning chirp when the battery is low.” Chirp! They call that a chirp?

I throw away the battery. If I get that smoke alarm put back up, it will be on the wall where I can reach it.

No doubt smoke alarms do save lives when they warn in time of real danger. But what if that unnecessary fright had given me a heart attack? And it could happen to a frail, elderly person. If I had died in the night, they probably would have performed an autopsy to determine the cause.

But would anyone have suspected the real culprit – the smoke alarm!

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COMMENTS   They seemed to enjoy it, but I didn’t feel I had done my best this time. I hadn’t had time to rehearse as much as usual and had to glance at my notes a few times. This would have made it less convincing.Last year, I presented one of my stories “The Last Train Home” as a speech but didn’t use it as a manual speech. I think it really would have fulfilled the requirements better than this one. What do you think? 

Speech No.3 in the Toastmasters Advanced Manual “The Entertaining Speaker” Manual

Date presented: October, 2003

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The objectives of this speech were: 

• To prepare a humorous speech drawn from your own experience.
• To strengthen the speech by adapting and personalizing humorous material from outside sources..
• To deliver the speech in a way that makes the humour effective.

Time 5 to 7 minutes.

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The Phantom Motorbike Rider.

Tonight I’m going to tell you….

Listen! Is that a motorbike? It’s coming closer! Quick hide!

BrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr………

Phew, that was close! He looked like a normal motorbike rider, didn’t he? Well don’t let him fool you… he’s the phantom motorbike rider!

Forewarned is forearmed. If I hadn’t stayed up late the other night and read the legend of the Phantom Motorbike Rider, I wouldn’t have known about this evil monster who rides through the night in search of victims. It’s a tale of horror and such grisly details, if I were tell you, you would be afraid to venture out of this building tonight.

It was well after midnight when I finished reading the gruesome story. It was a hot night, but I found I was shivering and my skin had turned to goosebumps. I went to the door and called in the cat. “Oscar!” The street was dark and silent. Only my house was still lit up like a beacon – or a well marked target. I quickly closed the door and locked it. I went into every room and checked all the windows. I looked in the wardrobe and under the bed before heading into the bathroom.

While I was lathering myself with soap, I heard soft scraping sounds on the other side of the bathroom door. And then, the door pushed open – just far enough for a long hairy arm to reach in and grope toward me. I yelled… “Oh Oscar, you wretched cat!” I threw the soap at the cat as it ran out of the room.

I hurriedly completed my ablutions and headed for my bed.

That’s when I heard it! BrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr….

I leapt into bed and pulled the covers over my head as the sound receded into the distance. Phew! He didn’t get me. Not this time!

Next day the dark circles under my eyes drew some comments. “Been out on the town all night, have you?” joked my colleagues. How could I tell them I had lain awake all night waiting for the phantom to return? It seemed ridiculous now – in broad daylight.

But as night approached, I wished I didn’t live alone. I wished there was someone with me when the back door rattled in the wind and the tree branch swayed and tapped against my window. I would have liked some company when the neighbours dog howled. OOOOoooooooo!

Once again, I secured my fortress and prepared for bed. There’s nothing to be afraid of, I told myself. There’s, no such thing as a Phantom Motorbike Rider! But wait! What was that sound? BrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr……

I burrowed under the bedclothes and huddled there shivering till morning. No one commented on my appearance the next day, but I received some strange looks and heard them whispering behind my back.

The next night, I didn’t even bother to prepare for bed. I locked the doors, turned out the lights early and sat huddled in my armchair…. waiting…. listening….

I had almost dozed off when I heard heavy footsteps outside. I sat frozen in horror as they came up my stairs and stopped at my door. I heard a fumbling sound, then the lock on my door was turned and the door swung open.

I crouched and shielded my face as the light was clicked on.

“What are you doing in the dark?” asked my son Joel. “I thought you were out, so I let myself in.”

“Oh… I was just going to bed…” I tried to act nonchalant. I had always told him there was no such thing as ghosts.

“I just walked around to borrow a book,” he said.

“I’ll make coffee,” I offered, hoping he would stay a while.

“Thanks,” he disappeared into the bathroom.

I heard the phantom coming. I dropped a cup and dived under the table. BrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr….. It missed me again and sped away just as Joel came back into the kitchen.

“Hear that noise?” he asked.

“Well, yes.” I said. “Now that you mention it, I think I did hear something.”

“Your toilet needs a new float valve,” he said. “That’s the sound our toilet made when the valve went. I’ll get one tomorrow and bring it around.

And so he did.

The phantom hasn’t been back since then. But if you hear a motorbike, get out of the way!

You never know!

Yes, that’s a typo. I really meant to type “block,” but somehow “bolock” seems more adequate, so I’ll leave it.

Well, it’s the last day of September, and I would really love to have something to say before the month vanishes into – well, where ever it is that used months vanish to. (I was trying to sound literary, but failed miserably because I’m suffering from a severe case of “writers bolock.”)

So what’s been happening since I last updated – that I could write about?

I could write about Spring Cleaning and how I keep opening the cupboard door just to feast my eyes on the temporary neatness!

Or how it’s so dry here, even the weeds are too weak to offer much resistance.

Or about an obnoxious customer at our jumble sale. (But what if she read it?)

Or our World Vision Craft Morning when Pam showed us some lovely things from “Fair Trade.”

Or the hilarious game of “Articulate” we played with Shea and Callum.

But my mind just feels too lazy to develop any of it into something worth reading.

So the last few days, when I tried to write, I ended up playing Free Cell. I’m quite good at it now.

I turned to my ‘Tunnel Writing” book for inspiration. Most of it is very boring tunnel writing (I’ll explain that term soon.) mixed with accounts of dreams that I remember. No inspiration there, but then I started writing about different kinds of writing:

The usual way. Stare at a blank page or computer screen. Mind goes blank. Well, not really blank – different ideas chase each other round your brain but you don’t feel like committing to any of them, because that means making a mental effort.

Make a few feeble attempts to write the first sentence. Decide it doesn’t sound right. Cross it out or delete it. Try another one. Ditto. Give up and play Free Cell.

Slam writing. Start with an idea and a vague plan about where it is leading. Write fast – whatever words come. Don’t worry how it sounds, it can be rearranged and corrected later. Just get it all down before it evaporates.

Tunnel Writing. You don’t have any idea at all. You just pick up a pen (I find it works best with pen and paper) and write – anything at all. Each sentence suggests the next sentence. You don’t know which way it will go or where it will end. It’s a matter of lowering your horizon – not worrying about where you are going or whether it will be worthwhile, but you enjoy the trip and occasionally you discover something.

(This is mostly unedited tunnel writing with just a touch of Slam.)

Oh… just in case you’re interested, here is the most recent dream I recorded in my book. You’ll probably find it boring – you had to be there!

Dream
I was talking to Joyce* at a Toastmasters Executive meeting. John* called me over and asked “Are you alright?”

I was surprised. I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Do you have insurance?”

“Yes,” I said. “The World Vision office faxed our certificate through for our stall.”

I went out the front of the house to call Del* in to the meeting. She wouldn’t move. I realised there were rough looking men in a car outside and she didn’t want to walk past them.

“Climb over the fence,” I told her.

Del and I walked through a long paddock on our way back to the house. I picked up a broken knife that was lying on the ground. I didn’t want the men to find it, so I thought I’d take it back to the house and put it in the rubbish bin.

The men were close behind us. I didn’t want them to see I had the knife, so I slipped it under a blue bunny rug that was spread out on the ground.

The men followed us into the house and went into the front room. I went out the back and said to Penne, “Ring the police on your mobile phone.”

Penne said, “I can’t, they’re not doing anything.”

One of the men came out the back. He was escorting a woman with a baby in a stroller. She was taking a short cut through the house. The man was polite and helped her with the stroller on the stairs.

One of our jumble sale customers came to the back door, intending to take a shortcut through to the front street. I felt I should warn her about the men, even though they seemed to be letting people through.

Before I could say anything, one of the men grabbed her and held the broken knife to her throat. Another one ran a big knife that acted as a metal detector over her body.

I thought, “If they do that to us, they’ll find Penne’s phone.”

* Joyce’s house had been broken into at the weekend. She was telling us about some of the undesirable characters in the area.
* Penne phoned John on her mobile phone during the meeting.
* We talked about Del doing Table Topics.

Miles gave his first speech in front of an audience last week – and he’s only five! Nothing remarkable about that really – all the kids at his pre-school have a turn at being the “Star” for the day and to tell their “Life Story.”

Frances had helped him (well, I think she really did most of it herself) to compile a book of photos of himself, his family, friends, pets, etc, so all he really had to do for his talk was to show and explain the pictures.

I minded Hayley while Frances took Miles to pre-school and sat in on his talk session.

“The kids were so funny,” she reported when she came back. “The teacher told them to ask Miles questions after his talk. All they wanted to know was, ‘Where do you keep the book?’ ‘Where do you leave it when you come to pre-school?’ Miles were getting frustrated. He kept telling them. ‘We just made the book last night!’ The teacher asked if anyone had a different question. One little boy said he did. So he asked, “Where do you put the book when you go to bed?’”

Meanwhile, Hayley and I had enjoyed our morning together. She’s talking well for a 20-months-old. She soon discovered the cats. “Hello Kitty!” she greeted Olive who was stretched languorously on the ironing board. Then Ingrid scuttled past and Hayley exclaimed, “Here I are – more Kitty!”

I realised how much her speech has improved when the rubbish truck came and emptied the wheelie bin. (An exciting event ) Two weeks ago she had waved after the departing truck and called “Seeya, wubbi guk!” But this time she said, “Seeya later, wubbi shruk!”

Hayley insists on calling Miles “Gobble.” I tried to get her to say “Miles.”

“Can you say “MmmmmmmmmmmmMummy!” I coached her.

“MmmmmmmmmmmmMummy!” said Hailey.

“MmmmmmmmmmmmMeemar!” I prompted.

“MmmmmmmmmmmmMeemar!” said Hayley.

“MmmmmmmmmmmmMiles!” I said.

“MmmmmmmmmmmmGobble!” said Hayley.

When they were leaving, Hayley waved, “Bye,bye Meemar, seeya later!”

“See you later, alligator!” I said.

Hayley chuckled. “You nunny, Meemar!”

“You’re funny too, Hayley,” I said.

Some days I wonder if I should have just stayed in bed. I woke up late on Sunday, feeling fuzzy. I wondered if I should phone Mum and tell her I didn’t feel like going to Church, but I knew she’d already be dressed and waiting. I got up and pointed the body, hoping my head would clear. Mum said she was feeling tired when I picked her up. She hadn’t slept well.

“Will we stay home and rest?” I asked.

“No, let’s go.” She turned back to get her house key, then decided, “I won’t need my key – you’ve got one.” (I keep a spare key to Mum’s house on my key ring.)

It was our Church’s 23rd Anniversary. I began to feel glad we’d made the effort. The service was a joyous celebration with plenty of bright singing, skits, and even dancing girls! (Things have changed in the last 50 years!) The dancers were totally at one with the music and their movements flowed naturally. But one or two little girls seemed conspicuously self-conscious. Oh, they were making the same movements that the others did, but they appeared to be trying too hard. A perfect illustration of what the sermon was about, “Faith versus Works” – if we are totally to yielded to God, then our actions come naturally…. (Here endeth the lesson!)

Outside in the Spring sunshine, Mum was looking weary. “Do you want to sit in the car?” I asked “I won’t be long.” I wanted to speak to a friend for a few minutes. I groped in my handbag for the car keys. They weren’t in the usual compartment.

“Are they in the outside pocket?” asked Mum.

“No, it’s full of Leopard Tree seeds!” (Don’t ask!)

I sat on a nearby seat and emptied the contents of my bag…purse, small pack of tissues, cassette of last week’s sermon, two muesli bars, water bottle, ginger nut biscuits, tiny carton of long-life milk, peppermints, (People with Hypoglycemia are always preoccupied with food!) more tissues, two rolls of sticky tape, drawing pins, church bulletin, notepad, nine pens, postcard from Dublin…

“No wonder you can’t find anything,” observed Mum.

“Surely I couldn’t have…” I hurried to the car and peered through the window in dismay.

There they were, dangling from the ignition, with the photo of my two grandchildren serenely smiling on the key ring!

“Have you got a spare key at home ?” asked a friend. “I’ll drive you home to get it.”

We headed toward her car. “Oh, no!” I suddenly realised. “My house keys are in the car!” They were on the same key ring! Then I brightened. “We can go to Mum’s and get my spare house keys!”

And so we could have, if the key to Mum’s house hadn’t been also locked in the car!

Joel has keys to my place, but I knew he and Frances had gone out for the day. Maybe my sister Relle still had spare keys…

Meanwhile, about six of the young men had come to help and were trying to unlock the car with pieces of wire, tape and screwdrivers. If they were successful, it would save my friend an unnecessary trip, but I hoped they wouldn’t damage the car.

“Maybe I should see if Relle is home.”

Someone produced a mobile phone. Yes, Relle was home and had spare keys to my house.

Mum waited in the shade while my friend drove me to Relle’s place to get my house keys, then to my place to get the car key, and back to the church.

“I’ll try it in the lock before I tell Mum the good news,” I said. The car door opened and I retrieved the bunch of keys.

I ran over to where Mum was waiting and brandished the keys triumphantly. “Da,dah! Now we can go!” We both flopped into the car in exhausted relief. It was hot and we were getting tired and hungry. I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. No lights on the dashboard, just dead silence.

I went in search of help again. More men came to my aid. An older group this time, each one of them determined to prove he was the one who could start the car.

They pushed the car back (narrowly missing a tree) to make room for someone in a big van with jumper leads. No luck.

“There’s a loose wire on one of the terminals!”

“It must be the generator!”

The fan belt needs replacing!”

“They must have disconnected something when they poked wire down through the windows!” That was my suspicion too.

“I’ll get my son to come and look at it later,” I said firmly.

“Can I give you a lift home?” asked a man called Toby.

“Yes, please!”

Mum and I sank gratefully into the back seat of his car. Half way home, Mum asked me, “You’ve got your keys now, haven’t you?”

“Of course!” I felt in my handbag for reassurance, but I didn’t find it – nor the keys!

“Oh, no! I couldn’t have!”

Toby pulled over to the side of the road. “Now take your time and have a good look. If they’re not there we’ll turn around and go back.”

I spread my jacket on the seat and emptied my handbag onto it… purse, small pack of tissues, cassette of last week’s sermon, two muesli bars, water bottle, ginger nut biscuits, tiny carton of long-life milk, peppermints, more tissues, two rolls of sticky tape, drawing pins, church bulletin, notepad, nine pens, postcard from Dublin, the spare house keys and spare car keys, but not the original set of keys which included the key to Mum’s house, which was where we were headed.

Toby made a U Turn and drove back toward the church while I stuffed the contents of my bag back in place. As I lifted my jacket off the seat I heard a familiar jingle.

“Oh…I found the keys. They were in my lap!”

How embarrassing!

Toby made another U Turn and headed homeward once more.

“This would make a good story,” said Mum.

“Yeah,” I said. “In a hundred years time we’ll probably laugh about this!”

Joel came home late in the afternoon and drove me back to the church and got the car going. It was the battery after all. When I had left the keys the ignition, I couldn’t have quite turned it off properly. I don’t know why the men couldn’t jump start it that morning. Maybe they didn’t charge it for long enough.

Joel got me to drive my car back to his place and he put it on the charger all night, I played with the kids until Joel brought me home at 8.30 pm – 12 hours after I’d left home that morning! I was so tired I went straight to bed.

Yesterday, Frances came and got me so I could bring the car home. When I came back, my neighbour was trying to get into his own house. He had locked himself out.

How could anyone be so stupid!