I’ve joined the ranks of the doddery, confused old ladies.
The ones with capacious bags, shawls and gloves and a head like a sieve.
I went for a hair cut today. It was a bitterly cold day with very strong winds and I shuttled up and down the high street as fast as I could. Perhaps that’s why I couldn’t find the Post Office on the way there. Actually, they’d moved it since the last time I went. Would you believe they’d hidden it in the back of the Boar’s Head ? They’re doing it to confuse old dears like me, I’m sure.
Much worse is what happened after the hair cut: I left the salon, coat done up to the neck and scarf wound round head and shoulders, spoiling my fresh hairdo instantly. Half way down the high street I thought my face felt funny, something was missing. I turned round and went back into the salon.
The girls looked up from the heads they were beautifying.
“Did I leave my glasses behind”, I asked, slightly shaky and unsteady from being buffeted by the wind. "I can’t see a lot without them. Or perhaps they’re in my bag?” I upended my large handbag and rummaged around in the contents, now piled on the waiting area sofa.
“Which glasses do you mean,” Justine asked, looking round for them, then looking back at me.
“You’re wearing them.”