Here are three things I carry about. The evil mobile phone (thankfully the even more despicable pager is no more), a ball and chain in the form of an emailing device and a dog-eared notebook and pen.
I'd made a note of flights, hotel and the address of the office in the notepad. I felt a little foolish. I mean, the email thingy stores all that, and the mobile phone does too. But, well, I work with computers and so have more reason than most to mistrust the black-heart of new technology.
And so it was that before I even boarded the plane to fly out the mobile phone died. Admittedly, I may have played some small part in its demise by dropping it into a pint of beer at the airport. Accidentally, of course.
And then somewhere over the English Channel, the Blackberry lost the will to live (a feeling I know all too well, having spent time in the company of Germans.) It refused to be switched back on, doubtless petulant about being switched off for the purposes of airline paranoia.
The notepaper was fine. And the pen did sterling service, er, writing stuff.
I think there's a moral here somewhere. I just haven't worked out where.
While I ponder this, I shall head off to the Physio. I gather I am the last appointment of the day. I may well slip in a "Do you fancy a drink?" - although decorum states that I'll wait until after I've got my clothes back on.
