Marion telephoned me.
I knew it was Marion because she said it was she. Plus, it wasn't a totally unexpected call because
I have been half thinking I might hear from her, given that I have so far failed to answer the email she sent me.
This is not like me. I am pretty good (though
I say so myself, as shouldn't) at answering my emails. I check them every morning over my Oats So Simple breakfast porridge and again in the evening just before I start cooking our dinner. Occasionally I carry out an Extra Check around lunchtime. The trouble
is that I sometimes start composing a response in my head, then find myself called away (usually by Mr B) on Urgent Business - so that when I return to the Us-Pad, I truly believe I have answered said email and move on. Yes, I know, you are going to remind
me that there is usually a symbol of sorts to indicate a response has been sent, but...
This wasn't actually the case anyway with the email from Marion which was
picking up on a suggestion I had put forward at the last quarterly meeting of Questers - the group, regular readers may (or may not) remember which goes on "behind the scenes" visits to places of local interest. Mr B, of course, would remind me that, by offering
a suggestion, I had ignored his sound advice to sit on my hands when the meeting was asked for (i) volunteers or (ii) suggestions. As per usual I had found this impossible and had ventured the idea that we might enjoy discovering the background to a new Costume
Trail organised by our local museum.
Now that the next quarterly meeting is approaching it is not unreasonable for Marion to ask if I have made any progress
over the last, well, three months. I had put off replying to her initial email, thinking that I might just find time to make a few calls so that I had something - anything - to report. Well, it was a very good idea but I simply didn't get round to it before
As I was in the middle of making abject apologies, something very strange happened. I forgot who I was talking to. I mean, really, who does that? Instead
of thinking I was talking to Marion, I somehow persuaded myself that I was talking to Joy. It's not quite so strange as it seems, there is a (very) vague connection in that Marion is a joint Questers leader with David. Who happens to be married to Joy. Tenuous
in the extreme, I hear you say.
Would I be seeing her at Lovely Linda's craft group on Wednesday, I asked. Marion-Who-Wasn't-Joy said she wasn't a member of this
particular group. I was so sure she was, I responded, maybe it was because we were always talking about the clever things she made - her knitted Christmas puddings, for example.
Marion-Not-Joy said she had never knitted a Christmas pudding in her life, not being the least skilled in the Craft Department. I couldn't quite make out, over the telephone, whether she was amused, puzzled or offended at the thought that she would
spend precious time knitting anything, let alone a Christmas pudding.
Which is when the proverbial penny dropped and I realised I had mixed up my Joys and my Marions.
More abject apologies were proffered and accepted with remarkably good grace, all things considered. I stayed chatting on the phone for a while, talking as learnedly as I was able about the State of the World in the hope that Marion would be comforted to realise
that I was not completely off my trolley.
What I need to know is, has anything like this ever happened to anybody else?
Or is it - perish the thought - just me?