Given the incredible range of stuff people can own – coats, books, magazines, shoes, everything – it can be quite disconcerting when you spot someone who has an object identical to something you own.
This morning sitting opposite me on the train was a woman chuckling her way through precisely the same Bill Bryson book that I’m currently reading (except that I left mine at home today). As usual (for me, anyway), the first thing I thought was "hey – that’s my book!"
The newsagent rang today, to let me know that the newspaper has stuffed up my subscription, and that he honestly hasn’t messed it up himself. Honest. Really. And he said he was very very sorry, and offered to lick my shoes.
Well, okay, not quite, in fact he wasn’t apologetic at all, but hopefully my subsequent call to the newspaper’s subscription department has fixed things up. Evidentally the carrier pigeon they use to communicate subscription information from Sydney head office to us poor slobs down here in Melbourne got lost. Pretty cheeky considering they managed to bill my credit card, but the helpful and ingeniously named Danielle assured me that all would be well by next Tuesday. We shall see.
