Apologies and thanks to the coatcheck guy at the RVT yesterday. I couldn't find my ticket, and he ran up and down those stairs three times, cheerfully determined to find my coat. "It's a cream zip-up tracksuit top thing, with sort of Spanish writing on it," I explained, "and it's my boyfriend's flatmate's." Down he went again. And again, but to no avail.

"Are you sure you handed it in?" he asked, politely.

"Don't be silly - of course I..."

But hang on. When I really thought about it, no, I wasn't sure I'd handed it in. In fact, I had no memory of putting a jacket in at all. Perhaps I hadn't? But then, what....?

I found it crumpled on the dance floor.