D is for Diary

...And comes under W is for Wife.

Sometimes, in spite of a desk diary which should sit beside the 'phone but is never there, (I know, old fashioned country folk with a landline apparatus); the existence of a calendar hanging on the wall; a tablet with all singing and dancing calendar apps and a computer that is more than capable of telling me if, but and when any member of the family moves, I don't know what I'm doing when!

The best diary of all is in my head, which is becoming an increasing worry as I struggle to remember the names of my children, let alone what the heck they're supposed to be doing on any given day. If anyone does call to ask if I or a member of the family are free on a certain day, they must be left wondering whether the 'phone line has gone down, (that quaint notion again), or I've lost my hearing. It's simply a case of me tearing off to find my mobile, scrabbling about underneath the ironing to find the diary, dashing back to the phone only to realise that I don't have my glasses so can't read anything anyway; swearing and tipping my handbag upside down to find them, coming back to the phone to check that the caller hasn't disappeared in frustration. I then having a niggling feeling that there is something that I haven't written down anywhere, but is very important and is happening on that date, but what the heck we'll go for it anyway. The caller probably doubts their sanity and wonders why they've called in the first place, then hangs up.

I have no pen at hand to write this date down - we specialise in blunt pencils and burnt-out biros here - so trundle off muttering to myself so that I don't forget. The dog barks, work beckons and a page or two of rambling prose later, my dash for the diary has been entirely obliterated from the memory.

This results in the car standing idle on the driveway when it should be engaged in a round county trip for a football match, in friends calling at 9pm on a Saturday evening and asking, casually, "Are you coming around this evening?", in me turning up with a car load of offspring to an event, to find that noone else is there - they probably had been a week earlier  - and in my wandering into a hairdressing salon adamant that my appointment is at x time, when I'm assured, equally forcefully, that it's at y time, and tomorrow.

I used to have a Sasco planner at work and be organised with stickers and labels and multi-coloured felt tips informing me of lead times and marketing dates. Time to go back to basics!