Yesterday, I took T into town to the baby group at our local library. We’ve been so busy recently we haven’t been for a few weeks, so it was good to get out. Opposite the library is a church, which holds a parent & baby group. As we left the library and I was heading back to the car, I was reading the church sign trying to find out when the group was on. I walked up to the car, pressed the button on the key fob and grabbed the door handle. Nothing happened. Maybe I hadn’t pressed the button properly. I tried again, still engrossed in the sign. It still wouldn’t open. I looked at the car, frowning, and realised, to my embarrassment, it wasn’t my car! It was an estate, like mine, but that was pretty much where the similarity ended. Mine was the next one up. I looked around, like you do, hoping no-one is there to witness your shame. There were 3 ladies getting out of a car, giving me strange looks. I hurried to my car, opened the door, and as I turned to put T in his seat, saw the owner of the car I had attempted to break into heading towards it. I remembered seeing her get out of her car as we got out of ours. She had a black dog with her, and T was transfixed, as he loves dogs. She had obviously seen it all, as she called out to me. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve tried to get into the wrong car many times!’ I replied, ‘It’s the first time I’ve ever done it!’ Her answer? ‘At least I’ve got old age to blame!’ Erm, yeah, I don’t really have any excuse! Baby brain?