I had been under the weather for several days, finally succumbing to Our Lass's cold bug, which we were now both struggling to throw off.
Some rather pleasant Spring days had come and gone, whilst I could only gaze longingly out of the window, at vast blue skies and the occasional scudding cloud. My eyes ached both with yearning and with cold symptoms. Meantime, Our Lass, who had a week's head start on the illness, pottered about the nascent garden like a newborn lamb in lush green pastures.
By yesterday, I felt that a little energy was returning, but I was still slow to wake and start the morning. In no particular rush over breakfast, I listened to the local news on Radio Orkney, fired up my pc and scanned emails from presumably healthy folk (or, at least, ill ones who weren't such a wuss as Yours Truly), before eventually deciding to have a shower.
At that point where you're wet all over and have soap suds in your eyes, I suddenly thought,
(Ok, there may have been a teensy expletive in there somewhere.)
Not hugely earth-shattering news, I'll admit, seeing as how it was the day between Monday and Wednesday. Even on Orkney, the days of the week tend to follow a similar pattern to elsewhere.
Was there some important deadline to meet? A vital decision to make concerning the fate of nations? Or the publication of a report to secure the future of our planet?
No, the reason for my panic was a bit more prosaic than that... it was bins day.
And I had forgotten.
Worse still, which bins this week?
In Orkney, the local authority operates a fortnightly system; household waste, one week, and recyclates, the next. Laid low by a virus, I wasn't sure where in the alternate universe we were.
Making as much haste as decently possibly, once cleaned, dried and dressed, I ventured to the window to check what our neighbours had decided to do.
Eh? It is Tuesday, isn't it? After checking the calendar and the refuse collection timetable, I could confirm that, yes, it was the afore-mentioned day and that it was also a recyclates week. Odd, then, that no-one else had bothered? Especially as they are usually reliable with their rubbish bin deployment.
Trying to put aside the awful conclusion that, due to my tardiness, the bins had already been emptied and returned to their respective homes (aarrghhhhh!), I wandered outside to look up and down the road, in that time-honoured method of determining what is going on.
Not a bin or bag, of any hue or size, to be seen... anywhere.
This was becoming weird (as opposed, dear reader, to the weirdness of my befuddled thought processes).
Then I wondered if the approach of Easter had changed the schedule, after all, we're new to the area and perhaps everyone else 'just knows'. A flick through the local newspaper and a brief search online didn't give any clues as to whether this was the case.
Therefore, hoping against hope, I trundled our two green wheelie bins out to the roadside, weighted down their lids with a couple of rocks (because it's Orkney and it's windy) and sloped back inside to see whether the fickle hand of Fate would cast her dice in my favour.
Barely an hour later, I was pleasantly surprised to discover the bins neatly laid down behind our wall. And another consignment of paper, plastic, glass and tin was on its way to recycling reincarnation.
It's true, from time to time, Our Lass has been known to mutter that I worry about all the wrong things.