Don't Forget the Doomsday Book, Mum

"Don't forget the fruit gums, Mum."
Do you remember that advert?  Dennis Waterman as a freckly kid. Amazing how deeply ingrained are  advertising slogans from the sixties and seventies.

Apropos of nothing in particular some months ago, my son mentioned that a colleague at work had an arrangement with his elderly parents. Should anything happen, all vital information could be found in a file which they, with grim humour, called "The Doomsday Book".
Our filing system has a certain notoriety in our family. And not in a good way. I am in charge. That just about says it all, really.
Filing is a bit like dusting. Once you've done it, you sit back sigh and bask in self-congratulation.. then, bugger me, you have to do it all over again. In the same week...
Let me just say, in case you think I am being too hard on myself, that for many years we  kept tickets for events in the corner shelf of the kitchen (Advice to the young: never have a corner kitchen shelf. A waste of time.) amongst sundry statements, invoices, school reports and the like... This meant that two days before we were due to go to the theatre we could never find the tickets because they had evaporated... A new kitchen four years ago prompted a system. So now I can go to a file in a filing cabinet which says "Tickets - Oh yeah!!" because now the system works.
Anyway, this evening, I finally remembered to say to our son on the eve of his holiday, that I had been unusually organised and had heeded the example of his colleague's parents. I told him that we had written a list of useful information in the back of my very lovely RHS Diary. (The pictures will be so consoling when the time comes...she says, hoping they will have yellowed with age by then.)
He of little faith, said "Do you know where it is?"
This caused a paroxysm of anxiety as I failed to find it for a whole hour. As I tripped over the suitcase left carelessly at the bottom of the stairs after my recent sojourn with grandchildren, crunched my shoulder, and ricked my back, I thought Doomsday was knocking on the door.
No alarm.
I'm fine. Thanks, for asking.

My secret is safe with you