I have just spent a futile hour looking for my marriage certificate. It was not in the file labelled Legal Documents, nor the file labelled Name Change, nor in any other file where it might have been misplaced. It was not in the wire tray where paper stuff resides before it goes to its proper place. It was not in any of the other silly piles of envelopes and papers. It was not in any handbag.
The thing is I need to update my photographic ID before I can board a plane and I need to board a plane in June to travel to Katy's wedding.
I was able to put my hand on birth certificates for Bert, Pearlie and myself. I had dog licences for dogs long mouldered in their graves and I had my first marriage certificate with its accompanying divorce certificates and bank statements from ten years ago and pounds of guff from various financial institutions and effing Christmas cards from way back when. It's time I had a good redd out. You see it is no good being able to put your hand on something if you don't put it back so that the next time you want to put your hand on it....
Ah well. A wasted hour looking for a bloody document and I'm not a bit cross. That has to be a good thing.