Time to consult the old customised personal assistant organisation filing and notation system that I carry with me.
A 79p diary from the corner shop.
I've yet to find a high-technomological device that can compete with a small sheaf of papers with dates on and a ribbon in it for stopping me turning up to work three days early or getting a divorce due to anniversary-misplacement syndrome. It's tiny, lightweight, cheap, doesn't need recharging and has a simple human input and visual display system called writing things down and then reading them.
So, let's have a looksee:
Well, that all makes sense.
A day shift and a couple of nights, maybe a curry with Sue and Ami, and a gig on Saturday in Malvern, where I will wow the crowds with some ukulelage. It should be a realtively easy session because it's a live music and beer festival, with the emphasis on beer, so I'm not expecting anyone to be analysing my syncopation or missed notes. They'll just be pleased there's some noise going on in the background that isn't someone hurling.
Wait, what am I doing on Monday?
Er . . .
What are nerts? Why am I destined to ram them?
I have absolutely no idea what that is. Is it a place? A person? Have I arranged to do something that I won't be able to fulfill? Am I going to get a phone call on Monday saying "Where the hell are you? You're supposed to be over here with your ramming spoon! Those bloody nerts have got into the air conditioning now. Thanks for nothing, Nert ram reneger."
Then I'll get a reputation for not ramming nerts and be ostracised by the nert ramming community in the county, maybe the whole South West.
My brother suggested it might be code, and I've written it down backwards. Apart from the fact that it must be an incredibly important secret if I've also gone to the trouble of erasing my own memory about it, I fail to see how "stren mar" is any more sensible that "Ram nerts".
As long as it isn't something medical or employment related, perhaps I shouldn't fret too much, although I can't help worrying about it. It's like a loose tooth. Only in a diary. And made of ink rather than enamel.
See, it's got me making rubbish similies now.
If anyone has an idea as to what it is, let me know.