It's been an eventful sort of day today. Not the sort of day that a BBC war correspondent would call eventful, but that's not me.
It started with not being able to find my cars keys (they were under my washing in the laundry basket), continued with me trying to use my home security code to get into Linden (I tried 3 times, wondering why it wasn't working), before reaching a crescendo with a little voice.
"The time now is 11:18; the time now is 11:18; the time now is ..."
My boss and I were both in the office when little voice started. We looked at each other and giggled nervously. I followed the voice to its source: it appeared to be coming from my handbag. I opened it and, sure enough, my mobile phone was telling me the time.
'You must have set the alarm,' my boss said.
'I don't know how to - and anyway, why would I set it for 11:18?'
Life is just a mystery.
A bit like the Christmas decorations.
Linden is a popular dumping ground. If anyone has something they don't want they say, 'It's too good to throw away so I'll leave it at Linden - but I won't mention it to anyone.' Sofas, hi-fi units, organs: we've had to get rid of them all in the past. Today it was the turn of the Christmas decorations.
We seem to have acquired a whole boxful of decorations. They're in good condition but we've already got more than enough baubles for our tree.
So I've taken out the few I really like and the rest are going to be discarded. And if anyone comes up to me at Christmas and says, 'Where's the box of decorations I left here for safe-keeping?' I'll reply, 'They've gone to the great grotto in the sky.'
No more Mrs Nice Girl.