I just did the old mental back-tracking. Which streets, which corners, which parks.
And no, it's not what you're thinking for the strongest thing I'd had was a glass of orange and mango.
Oh, then there was the perplexing occurrence at a supermarket parking area.
Having shopped, I pushed my purchases through the doors, across the tarmac, and stopped my trolley at the car only to discover the automatic door-lock thing had decided to go to sleep.
Then I noticed, with some alarm, that someone appeared to have been inside the car and had left a suspicious looking small brown box on the driver's seat.
I looked around in mild panic then spotted something equally suspicious. Three parks away was a car identical to ours. In fact, on closer inspection, I discovered it was ours.
However one walks sheepishly, that's how I walked the next 12 metres, thankful I had not tried to enter the other car using the key - which would have done only one thing: set the alarm off.
Driving home (in the correct car, of course) I had visions of a court appearance.
"Attempted theft of an automobile m'lud." the Crown prosecutor would have declared.
"Anything to say for yourself?" the judge would have responded while peering closely at me.
"I am proud of my distant Irish heritage your honourship," I would have offered.
"Explanation satisfactory, case dismissed."
But I digress. The question I want to ask is this - and you may want to put your childhood cap on to answer it. What is more fun: a simple field of grass or a terrain of rocks and dirt and posts and a hill to roll down?
I guess, in a sense, both appeal as on a grand landscape of grass you can run and kick balls about but for me, the ideal would be a terrain of rocks to scramble upon and dirt to dig and a hill to roll down - and all not too far from a big field of grass.
I briefly watched in delight (as I was driving by) the other afternoon as a group of excited little kids launched their imaginative hearts and souls into a remarkable little adventureland which kind of looked like the sort of play area they'd have built for the youngsters of Middle Earth, or the land of Oz as there was a scarecrow standing guard nearby.
I had been watching the playground progress down there at St Patrick's School in Riverbend Rd for the past couple of months with intrigue.
On Saturday mornings there would be a gumbooted working bee of parents bearing shovels and rakes and things and they appeared to be digging a crater. As time went by the crater filled and the little mound of hillock beside it grew.
They have created a playground which is exactly what they term inspires something to be - a ground to play in - and since it all got the green light, the kids have taken to it.
I saw some drifts of dirt going about as the little shovels and trucks worked away and it was wonderful to see some grubby smears upon the uniform shorts and dresses, although I daresay mums and dads may think otherwise.
But here were kids being kids in a wonderland of little geographical challenges and I drove on with only one regret.
I couldn't play there. My primary school play area was, well, pretty basic: one sandpit thing which doubled as the sports long-jump pit and some swings and a climbing frame which appeared to have been there since the '30s. No wonder we adventured along the beach or the railway line on the way home.
Great to see a slightly challenging terrain for little ones and ooh, I've had another court appearance vision.
"What were you doing in a school play area at 3.40am?"
"I was playing little truck in the desert games, your m'ludship," I would reply.
To which the Crown prosecutor would sheepishly nod and confirm - because he had been there, too. "Oh, case dismissed," would be the seething response from the bench.
- Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist for Hawke's Bay Today and observer of the slightly off-centre.
