Things mostly go to plan,  possibly more by good luck rather than good management  – more like a kind of by the seat of my pants / kind of wing it and hope for the best kind of planning but usually it all falls into place.

But things do go wrong and normally classically so – to the extent an old work colleague used to call me Ditsy.

So Thursday evening kind of gives a clue to the title of my blog and the sort of things that go wrong.

I made it to work by bike as usual on Thursday morning and managed to get there with everything I needed for the weekend – one pannier full of stuff;  one rucksack containing, amongst other things,  a tent,  sleeping bag,  sleeping mat and spare clothes;  and my handbag with train tickets inside – it’s not the first time I’ve forgotten the tickets – and losing my passport is another story altogether.   I was heading up North to Dingwall  by train straight after work, staying at my parents on the Thursday and Friday night and then camping at Nairn on the Saturday night.

I left work on time,  which is almost a miracle in itself;  caught the train to Perth where I then changed onto the Inverness train – all going well so far.   The train into Inverness was a little late but they had held back the connection to Dingwall so this wasn’t a problem.

The train to Dingwall largely follows the shores of the Beauly Firth and I was enjoying the views as the sun was going.   As we approached Dingwall I started to gather my stuff together – well 3/4’s of it – the rucksack,  bike and handbag – but no pannier!   I didn’t even look for it – I knew straight away that it wasn’t with me – it was still on the Inverness train – oops – mega oops – pannier and contents are needed for the duathlon I’m doing on Sunday!!

Dad was waiting on the platform,  with arms out to give me a welcoming hug – I didn’t reciprocate – I launched my bike at him with instructions to hold it,  while I ran to the other end of the train to explain my situation to the guard and get a phone number for lost property before my pannier is sent back to Perth or worse – the main office in Glasgow.

After a few phonecalls,  alls well that ends well and the pannier is safe and well in Inverness and being looked after until I collect it the following day.

Once collected Mum asked how I could have forgotten something that big – “If you’ve forgotten something you don’t know to go looking for it” was my logical (I think?) response – the size wasn’t relevant.