'What? I don't know. I can't hear anything. I suppose it must be if you can hear it.'
(My excuses: it was 8.30 am; the radio was on; Mark was cutting my hair noisily . [?])
It was Husband who had dropped me off in town. 'Have you got my keys?'
'No. Possibly. I don't know.'
I rummaged in my bag. 'No, I haven't.'
'Where are they then?'
'I don't know. You've just driven home; you must have them.'
'I didn't switch the engine off. Are you sure you didn't pick them up? Have you checked your pockets?' (I should explain that you don't have to put the key in to drive the car, just press a button to start.)
I checked my pockets. 'No, I don't have them.'
'Where are they then?'
'How should I know - oh wait, they fell under your seat on the way here.'
Moment's silence while he looks. 'Oh yes. How did you know that?'
'I must have seen them ...'
Anyway I was in the hairdresser's at that ungodly hour because it was the only time this week I could fit it in. But while I was there I had a brilliant idea. I know, I know, it's a talent I have. Don't you wish you had as many brilliant ideas as I do?
I was reading an article about Zoella who apparently is something like the second-most-viewed person on youtube. Or something like that. She's young, rich and making money having fun. And I thought: that's what I need to do! Become an overnight success vlogger.
But I need an angle, a target audience, and who could that be? Christian women. At least those who would like a slightly offbeat irreverent granny dog-walker. Yes, I even thought of a name for my vlog: Granny and George get Jesus. Or for alliteration, Granny and George
I told Husband about my idea on the way home. He said, 'Why?'
'Because I want to be rich and famous.'
He looked at me doubtfully. 'Why do you keep trying to think of more things to do? You're busy enough already.'
'Because ... because I feel I have stuff to say. And I think I can make it entertaining and worthwhile as well.'
I don't know. I just feel I want to get it out there. I am a communicator of sorts. Not in everyday conversation where I stutter and can never think of anything to say - or say the wrong thing - but in the written or spoken as in recorded word.
People generally have been complimentary about the vaguely Christian articles I write for The Bay and in the past I've written, along with my daughter, for a Christian magazine. (We had a monthly column called The Generation Gap.)
And I'm fed up of being rejected for my novel-writing.
So we're having a day out tomorrow and then we're away for the weekend (after the rugby final test of course) but after that, watch out, world!