It's always the way isn't it. Your day is organised down to the last minute. You've got an important appointment you have to be at your best for and then something or someone turns up and your best laid plans go out the window.
It happens to me all the time if I'm honest.
Mrs P says there are two reasons for it. Firstly it's because I try to pack too much into my day – which confuses me no end because half the time she tells me I'm not doing enough - and secondly because I talk too much.
I am guilty of the second point, for sure. But I'll accept the consequences without complaint. My attitude has always been people are interesting so why not stop and talk to them if you get the opportunity?
Yes it means the emergency carton of milk I was supposed to be picking up from the dairy might be a bit warm and icky by the time I get home or Briscoes was closed by the time I got there and I missed their latest red hot bargain – I guarantee there will be another sale tomorrow – but I like the fact I got waylaid engaging in some interesting chat with a couple of complete strangers on the way.
And better still, half the time, dear reader, I end up sharing such chat with you so you can have a giggle over your cornflakes.
Anyway. Back to the best laid plans, etc.
As you may know my main source of income has fallen foul of the virus and I have joined the growing unemployment queue.
Naturally, like most in the same boat I'd expect, I'm not just sitting here watching infomercials on the telly and waiting for the job offers to come flooding in.
Nope, as tempting as exercise equipment that will give me a fine set of abs in just six weeks for four easy payments of $14.99 is, I am being proactive and getting out there, either on the phone or in person pounding the pavement.
Obviously my day needs some sort of order so I've been working from "To Do" lists which feature names and times of people I need to see, places I need to be and important tasks I need to undertake.
On occasion my list has also been hijacked with random messages from the woman I live with such as "empty dishwasher" or "pick up dog poo on front lawn" but I digress.
So the other day I'm working my way through my list. I'm making excellent progress and that's a good thing because at the end of my list today is a call I have to make to a bloke I know to be a, shall we say, hard man.
With him there will be no time for small talk. If I'm to make any impression and stand any chance of getting in to see him for a proper interview I need to be direct and not prattle on, which, as you've probably worked out some 450 plus words into this piece, I have a tendency to do.
Right, so I'm just about to make this difficult call when my phone rings. It's Granddaughter Miss Three and a Half.
Now I don't know about you but as far as I'm concerned the world stops when you get these calls. And quite frankly I don't care. It's 20 minutes of the best memory-making innocent chat you'll ever have. It takes you to another world.
We talk about important things like drawing, the horse in the paddock next door, mummy's shoes, her lunch, Rachel from kindy, the cat, her baby sister who cries a lot, when I'm next coming to visit, swimming lessons, what she wants for her birthday, all sorts of things.
And when we are done and she wants to completely melt me she signs off with a "love you, granddad".
It's in that gooey, completely smitten frame of mind I finally get round to my big phone call.
I have to say even though I had to switch from soft to formal very quickly it went well. I didn't mess around. He was a busy man so I got straight to the point. Said my piece. Requested a meeting, almost demanded it to tell you the truth, and waited for the response.
It was a thumbs up. Yes. He appreciated the call. He'd see me next Tuesday at 10am. "Thank you," I said firmly. "Love you. Bye."
The words were out of my mouth and I'd hung up before I fully realised exactly what I'd said.
Groan. Something tells me I'm it could be an interesting conversation when we do meet.
Talk about making an impression.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to firstname.lastname@example.org .