I WAS losing patience as well as my shopping.

Stabbing at the dial I spoke a trifle sharply: "I rang an hour ago to ask if I had left my shopping instore."

"We had a look and it's not here Madam."

"You might have rung me - I left my number."

"Well, no Madam, you gave us our own number actually!"

I'd been checking the receipt to describe the contents of my bag and must have just given the number on that. OOPS!

Then I rang the bus company and I did give my number. Having heard nothing all afternoon, I headed back to the store to replace my goods.

On impulse I popped into the bus station services and there was my bag being guarded by a nice lady who had been drooling over my lemon drizzle cake.

I felt bad that she would not take a share of it!

Then I hurried to the store and asked for a large slice of humble pie!

Before I bought specially-treated glasses to protect me from sunlight, I lost innumerable pairs of sunglasses. For all I know there is still a pair hidden among the grasses of Papamoa in New Zealand.

But I'd hate to lose my ring. I pedalled frantically down to the pool last week and did my own treasure hunt'. Glinting up at me from the side of the pool was my precious ring, which I'd wrapped in a towel and must have dropped without noticing.

My walking stick is well known to Winchester Ramblers.

It is covered with badges implying I have walked in exotic mountainous regions.

This is a source of some embarrassment to me, but I have never felt it would be right to rip them off as it was a gift.

The badge from Mayrhoven has a stag's face that reminds me of my native Scotland.

During our comfort stops' it's only too easy to hang my stick on a branch and walk on without it.

Some kind and more observant friend always rescues it for me.

It saves a lot of hassle to have a secret hidey-hole for a house key.

Despite keeping several copies in various handbags, I've had to use the one in my secret hidey-hole around the building to get in more times than I care to remember.

Another object it is useful to have a reserve for is an umbrella. The United Church is not only a home from home for me, but also one rather dreary black umbrella which has come in useful on numerous occasions when I've hunted frantically around my hall without success.

Originally left on the coatstand after service, it has remained patiently ever since waiting for that rainy day!

You may well be thinking I'm losing my marbles, dear Reader, but I think my brain is simply de-fragmenting and encouraging more important activity.