Kevin Page: I'll be losing myself

By Kevin Page

1 comment
Losing things can drive you to utter distraction, I can tell you. Photo / File
Losing things can drive you to utter distraction, I can tell you. Photo / File

I'm having one of those weeks where I keep losing things.

It's bad enough this is my first full week back at work after the joyful relaxation of the festive season. Motivation and enthusiasm for the written word and the delight it can bring to the populace (or at least those who are reading this) is not, shall we say, soaring.

And now, to top it all off, I've gone and lost my glasses. Again. But they aren't the only thing I've lost this week.

On Monday, I lost a new golf ball. Typical. Straight out of the box and straight into a tree.

On Tuesday, I lost my wallet. Luckily it holds no credit cards (don't have any) or cash (don't have any of that either) so it is unlikely to offer up any rich pickings for any would-be thief.

Come to think of it keep your ears open for significant amounts of sniggering anywhere. It is possible the "sniggeree" has opened my wallet and is having a giggle over its lack of general contents. Of course, they may also be laughing at the picture I keep of me with long hair from 1975. Aaah, those were the days ...


On Wednesday, my car keys attempted to run off and find the missing golf ball and wallet, but I thwarted their ambitions by locating them in the nick of time ... in the fridge. Don't ask. I have no idea how they got there.

But all this paled into insignificance when I suffered my biggest catastrophe yesterday.

I lost Mrs P.

I am actually surprised that I misplaced her. I thought I had it all sorted out while we were taking George the Dog for a walk.

I would go jogging down one path with George and Mrs P would take a stroll on another route and meet us at a carefully selected spot. To make sure Mrs P was clear on the location of our rendezvous point I had a large balloon hover above the spot with an arrow pointing down and a man on a megaphone shouting: "Wait here Mrs P!" I may be exaggerating a little but, hopefully, you get the picture. If not, I'm trying to illustrate that our plans were very, very clear.

And for good measure I said to Mrs P: "Wait there for me. Do not move."

I realise now this was silly of me because I was completely overlooking the natural phenomenon whereby a spouse opens up ear canals simultaneously and everything flows in one side and out the other. Sometimes little bits catch, but the words become distorted.

Simply explained that means when I said: "Wait there for me. Do not move" Mrs P heard: "Do not wait there. Walk far, far away in the opposite direction. Pick daisies and dream of Briscoes."

I should have been wary. I have encountered this before.

On occasion, Mrs P has asked what I'd like for tea. I have clearly answered: "Steak and eggs." Her response? "A nice salad it is then."

So, anyway, there I am with George in the dog park. Running up and down looking for Mrs P. Partly worrying whether she's been abducted by slave traders (there's a lot of them out our way) and partly wondering if she really had become brainwashed and was doing a zombie walk down Te Ngae Rd towards Briscoes.

Anyway, eventually we find her. Blissfully unaware of the drama, ambling along through the daisies like some dodgy bag lady with an armful of pinecones to throw for George to chase.

I could have had a go. Could have told her she'd caused immense grief and frustration but she was happy in her pinecone and puppy paradise so I figured why upset her.

"Fancy a nice salad for tea?" I said instead, giving her a hug as we headed back to the car.

"Yep. Steak and eggs it is," she replied.

- Rotorua Daily Post

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