This is a serious grumble:
It's a couple of weeks now, since I fell off the upstairs bed and have been banished to the downstairs.
The family have done a brilliant job of setting me up for life downstairs.
With one hiccup along the way:
Much thought went into raising our big bed. Putting it up on castors? Or on special, probably expensive, "medical" chocks? whatever.
All so that I would be less likely to fall... on or off the too-low bed.
As it turns out, there is no need: the bed is at the perfect height. Plus, I'm always very careful, I know how to stand and sit safely.
Anyway, I explain, the bed came with its own castors.
I know, I was there. I put the castors aside and stored them safely. I describe the exact location.
The family search, the castors are no longer there. Nor to be found anywhere nearby.
Not to worry, they are not needed.
Finally, tonight I think, Stuff it.
I go upstairs, all by myself. (sorry, Deb).
I go to the exact location where I placed the castors. It's easy to remember, it was only ten or twenty years ago.
I open the drawer -- the drawer as described to Deb. -- the drawer as searched "thoroughly" by Deb.
I -- put in my hand...
Working by touch, I forgot to bring my glasses.
I pick up the castors. Exactly where I remember placing them, when the bed was new.
Bloody obvious. Bloody easy.
Okay, there are some factors in my favour:
(1) I know and believe that they are there.
(2) They are rollers, not castors.
(3) They are still in the plastic bag that I can clearly visualise.
(4) I am looking as someone who *knows* what he remembers.
(5) I am *not* looking for something placed, claimed to be placed, by that silly old bugger who has just fallen over and been declared to be dying. Probably also crazy as a loon. (No use denying that one.)
Okay, end of grumble.
Tomorrow (no, later today) I shall practise gloating :-)
Ha!
Told you so :-)
Dr Nick Lethbridge / Independent Dexitroboper
half blind, half deaf, dying of cancer,
So what.
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