It is appropriate that I have arrived back in London just as the government launches a campaign for those worried about losing their memory who fear they may have early dementia or Alzheimer's Disease (don't ask me what the campaign is called, I've forgotten). I am worried, very worried.
I went to collect Eurostar tickets that I'd booked online. I picked up mine with no problem but couldn't retrieve the ticket I booked for the Frenchman, traveling on a later train. I queued up at the ticket office, but they could'nt find any trace of his booking either. "He's going to love this," I thought. I returned home to find the booking reference only to discover I'd booked him London-Paris-London instead of the reverse. "He really is going to love this," I panicked. It was a no-change, no-refund ticket, but I threw myself on the mercy of the Eurostar Frequent Traveller office, was given a refund and was able to book the Frenchman another ticket. Then I told everyone we were going on holiday the day after we are actually going. This lapse of memory extended to arranging to have dinner with a friend on the evening of the day we are leaving London. Thank goodness I realised before we missed the plane. Really, this isn't like me. My entire career, when I had a career, was spent jumping on and off planes and boats and trains and it's years since I've been blonde.
La Fille caught me looking worried. She asked: "What's the matter, Mama?" I said: "I think I've lost my mind." She frowned for a minute then said: "Oh. Perhaps you left it on the TGV with Charlie and Bébé and Fred."