On Thursday, I was at the supermarket checkout with the groceries packed into bags, scrabbling in my handbag for my purse, only to realise it was on the kitchen work surface at home.
The following morning, I had a meeting at which I needed to make four points, which I had carefully thought about beforehand and written down, in case of forgetting them in the excitement of sitting round a table with some other people. I left the notebook at home too.
That lunchtime, my google alert pinged to tell me I was having a hair cut in ten minutes’ time. Which was very good of it, but the hairdresser is a 40-minute drive away.
It was not a good week, in other words – though the worst day was Wednesday, when my 11 year-old had a test, for which he needed to take only a pencil case and a photograph he could discuss. We decided the most suitable photo was on my husband’s phone. Unfortunately, he and his phone were in Canada, but he sent it and I printed it off and put it in the school bag with the pencil case. It was only when we got to school that I realised the bag was still (no prizes here) on the kitchen floor.
The trouble with thinking about ageing the whole time is that when a lot of things like this happen to you, you become convinced you have incipient Alzheimer’s. I am always insisting that the middle-aged brain is an impressive thing, but in my case that’s clearly nonsense.
It is of course, perfectly possible that I do have incipient Alzheimer’s – though I prefer to blame my husband for being in Canada, which means I have to remember absolutely everything myself. (Plus he’s not here so he can’t answer back). If I start doubting that Canada’s a good enough explanation, I like to recall the time, at least 20 years ago, when I went to the cash machine, withdrew the entire weekly budget, took my card and left the money there.
It’s not that much of a consolation.