Looking back over my life (I nearly said long life!)  I suppose I’ve had my fair share of strange happenings. 

Once I had a dream that included a close up picture of a cleft in a tree I’d climbed a couple of days before.  It clearly showed my Swiss army penknife nestling in the cleft.  The next day I checked my pockets – no penknife.  I went to the tree, climbed it again and there, exactly as the dream had shown, was my penknife.   I didn’t even know I’d lost it.  Surely that counts as strange?

Once I rented a room in a brothel without realising it.  It was only after a few nights of hearing strange noises and of meeting scantily clad girls on the stairs that it dawned on me.  Does that count as strange or naïve?  Silly question –  the answer is obvious.

Once I nearly fell out of a plane flying thousands of feet over Lincolnshire.  I had been invited on a test flight and had an irresistible urge to see if a rather insignificant handle – though I have to admit it was painted bright red – would open a trap door in the floor.  It did!  Is that strange or just plain daft?  Hmm….another silly question.

Once, while visiting New Zealand, I met locals who told me stories about earthquakes they’d lived through.  I said I’d never experienced an earthquake but would quite like to so that I could boast about when I got back to the UK.  A couple of nights later there was an earthquake.  Furniture in my room moved, pictures fell off the wall and a bookcase toppled over.   I slept right through it.

Anyway, something has happened recently and I’ve decided it counts as strange (strangeness is in the eye of the beholder); I’ve started to covet plastic bags.  I can afford to pay 5p in shops for a plastic bag but, for some deep seated reason, I bitterly resent having to do so.  I think it must be something to do with my mother who, on birthdays and at Christmas, used to gather up discarded wrapping paper and carefully straighten it out so that it could be used again.  She was a wrapping paper hoarder and I have become a plastic bag miser.  I go to absurd lengths to retain my precious stock of plastic bags.  I have a plastic bag in my pocket at all times on the off chance I might need it.  I love checking out in supermarkets looking as if I’m in need of a plastic bag and, at the last moment, whipping one out of my pocket like a conjurer producing a rabbit out of a hat.   Even more satisfying if I’m in Sainsbury’s and produce a Waitrose bag or vice versa. 

I’d never have anticipated that introducing a 5p surcharge could result in such dramatic behaviour change.  I’m a nudger’s dream!          


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