I used to be able to blame it on the fact that I'd just had a baby, but Eve is now two years old and my absentmindedness is showing no sign of improvement. In fact, I think it's getting worse.

The other day I returned to my car in Waitrose car park with a trolleyload of shopping and couldn't find my keys.

I hunted through all the usual places of my coat, then all the unusual places (I have a lot of pockets). I tipped my bag upside down.

I looked under the car. I went back into the store with my trolley still loaded and asked if keys had been found. No luck.

I went back out to the car and was surprised to find the boot was unlocked.

Ah, that was because I'd first gone down to Western Road to buy a jumper and I'd put the bag in the boot before going into the supermarket. The

shopping bag was there. But still no sign of the keys.

I took out my mobile and called my husband at work.

"Have you checked your pockets?" he said, patiently.

"Of course I have," I snapped.

"All right, all right. What about retracing you steps?"

"Don't treat me like an idiot."

All this while other shoppers were queuing up for my space and the

double-choc-chip ice-cream was whimpering to be returned to a freezer.

"I can't get away to bring you my keys. We'll have to get someone to collect them," said my husband, sounding a little less patient.

My next call was to our close friend Jay, who had always promised to help out in an emergency.

"Have you checked to see if any of the doors are open," he began.

"Of course. No, wait." I said. "The driver's door is unlocked. And, oh my god, THERE ARE MY KEYS, sprawled on the seat."

Jay started to laugh, which is quite understandable in the circumstances. I only wish the circumstances hadn't involved me.

"Really, I've got no idea how this has happened. I don't remember putting the keys there. I really don't remember," I said, feeling like a chump.

"Don't worry about it," said Jay. "You've just made my day."

The trouble is, I am worried. My theory is that I left the keys in the lock of the boot and a kind-hearted fellow shopper spotted my error and put them somewhere safe. Somewhere I was bound to find them. But I have no way of proving this.

Besides, my behaviour in other areas of my domestic life also indicates a rapid decline in mental functioning. I'm forever walking into rooms and forgetting why I need to be there.

The worst symptom is that I don't seem able to remember a single thing my husband says to me.

"I told you that yesterday," is his common refrain after reminding me about conversations we've apparently had on the number of competitions to win a car he's entered lately or why Stella Artois tastes better in bottles.

After consulting wise old women, however, I've been reassured that this is perfectly normal and will lead to a long and happy marriage.

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.