Now, where did I leave it?

Putting things down, and forgetting where you’ve left them. It’s a cliche about getting older. And like all cliches, it’s rooted in reality.

Glasses, keys, books I can understand. But cars?

I’d only been retired three months when this happened. One morning I looked out of the bedroom window as I was getting dressed. The car was missing from its usual place opposite the house.

I called downstairs to Jacqui that I thought it had been stolen in the night.

She went outside, looked up and down the street, and said the car wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

I called the local police station to tell them the car had been stolen. An automated reply put me in a queue. While I was waiting, I went over yesterday in my mind.

I remembered driving to the local shops…and walking back home.

I hung up, grabbed my jacket and car keys (ha! hadn’t forgotten where I’d left those!) and hurried to the shops.

The car was where I had left it 24 hours earlier – in a one-hour parking bay. Amazingly, it did not have a parking ticket.

I drove it back to the house, and parked it in its usual place. Jacqui was watching from the bedroom window.

“You need to go back to work,” she said.

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