venta

Today I got out of bed at 6, made my packed lunch, got on a tube, and made it to Soho for a bit after seven to go to yoga. I signed into my class, went to the changing rooms... And realised the bag containing my yoga gear was still at home.

Arse.

I browsed around the rails of clothing the yoga studio sells, wondering if I could purchase replacements. It was all far too expensive. If I pay £98 for a pair of leggings, I don't care how good the "performance", I expect them to do the bloody exercise for me.

I wondered what else I could reasonably do in London at 7am. With a heavy bag.

I considered that I haven't been to yoga in ages, and it seemed a bit of a shame to waste all that getting out of bed early.

I rummaged round the rails again and found some leggings that were merely horribly expensive (rather than catastrophically expensive). I remembered that I was wearing a vest that could be co-opted as yogawear.

(As it turned out, the second decision was wrong. Old and rather saggy cotton doesn't make good clothing for exercise. Fortunately, it is a serious-minded class where everyone else is far too busy with their practice to notice the person in the extremely inadequate clothing.)

So I yog'd, and then I went to work. Busy day, and I left my laptop in the office this evening running a bunch of stuff overnight.

So I left my laptop bag there too. I popped my lunchbox and yoga clobber into a cloth bag and headed home.

It turns out my lunchbox leaks when not right way up. I found this out on the escalator in Holborn, by which time I and my bag were mildly soaked with leftover salad dressing.

I got home, and realised I am wearing a dress. Not technically news to me, but I had failed to notice the relevance. No dress, no pockets. No pockets, keys in laptop bag.

You may remember I left that in the office.

And ChrisC is apparently still at work.

Which explains why I am sitting by myself in a pub, smelling strongly of vinegar.