I am not superstitious.
Not very.
Not often.
I suppose today, this particular Friday 13th, I was dead-tired and nervously aware of the date.
That's probably why I locked myself out of my flat.
And why I forgot that my builder and cleaner (they live together) might well have the spare keys - forgot until I had spent £50 on a locksmith.
Sitting on the wall outside, waiting for a locksmith, it was so tempting to stroke the lamp post (yeah, yeah, I've read my Freud) Unfortunately it had just been repainted black by the Council, without a warning sign.
