Ugh! Mondays. I arrive at the train station (late of course) on my commute to work, only to realise when I go to purchase my ticket, that I have left my purse at home. After rummaging in my rucksack and every pocket in the hope of miraculously finding a fiver, I huff and puff before giving up and start mentally preparing myself for the 15-minute walk back home, in the rain, may I add, because it is, after all, Scotland.
I turn around and see a familiar face. A middle-aged woman who I see every day at the station, both of us making our way to Glasgow for another day at the office. “Are you okay?” she asks. “Oh yes, I have just left my purse at home, Mondays, eh?” I reply. Trying to make light of the situation when in reality, I am livid with myself and worried about missing my morning meeting.