'When I was speaking this morning twice I had that "I can't swallow" thing.'
I was telling Husband about my visit to prison earlier where I'd been speaking (more on that later).
'What "I can't swallow thing"?' he asked.
'You know. When you try to swallow but can't and for an instant you can't speak either.'
Husband shook his head. 'Never happens to me.'
'Life is so simple for you, isn't it?'
We were walking in the woods at the time and soon after I said, 'You're going to have to let go of my hand in a minute as I need to blow my nose.'
'Why can't you blow it with one hand?'
'Because that's not possible. It's impossible to properly blow your nose using only one hand.'
Husband then demonstrated how he is capable of a one-handed nose blow. I said again, 'Life is so simple for you, isn't it?'
Beforehand I'd been practising what I was going to say and I was fine on most of it but there was one bit I just couldn't make stick in my head, try as I might. Then I woke up this morning and before I was properly awake I said it perfectly. Only to have forgotten it again half an hour later. As it wouldn't be possible for me to have a nap just before I spoke I had to find an alternative way of instant recall.
Before I set off I was able to tell Husband I'd worked out a foolproof method.
'H comes before w in the alphabet but in my talk it's the other way round.'
He patted me on the shoulder. 'Whatever works for you, dear.'
It did work: I remembered it perfectly. It was just an earlier bit - that I'd recited calmly in the woods when rehearsing - that I stumbled over.
What I said was obviously very moving though: three men were so moved they had to go to the toilet while I was speaking. (If I'd been a prison officer I would have been suspicious of their motive. Then again maybe the prison officer wished he could have excused himself to get out of my talk.)