My husband is very good at interpreting my dreams for me but I didn’t, however, need him to explain the dreams I had on Friday and Saturday nights.

Friday was a disaster. I had taken my mother into town to visit the bank. She doesn’t have internet banking and doesn’t hear well enough to be able to arrange things over the phone, so anything more complicated than writing an old-fashioned cheque or taking money out of the cash machine needs a personal visit. I drove her right up to the door, illegally driving through the market square, and then got her and her walker out before leaving to find somewhere to park. I arrived back at the bank to find that we couldn’t do the business anyway, because we needed my bank account details, and I’d forgotten to take them with me. This will mean another laborious trip in at another time. I felt such a fool.

But worse was to come. I arrived at work to find a big crate of yoghurt disposals. “They’re out of date,” said my colleague. “Out of date?” I said. “But I checked them last Tuesday: they should be fine!”

Nope, there was a whole crate of protein drinks that were out of date. I realised when I looked at them that I had not checked them because I had thought they were all dated 2026, and that they didn’t need checking every week. Obviously, they weren’t and they did.

The last time I felt this bad was when I made an accounting error of £3 million when I worked for a big health authority. I caught it in time before the accounts were published, but I still remember hiding in the women’s toilets, shaking, wondering how I was going to tell my Director of Finance about my mistake.

Last time it was £3 million; this time the monetary amount is less than £100, but the horrible churning fear and shame is the same. I hate to make mistakes. I especially hate to make mistakes through carelessness or laziness.

So, the first nightmare was overhearing my manager talking about someone (it could only have been me) how they had started off well but their performance had deteriorated over time. The second nightmare was even more straightforward – I was trapped under a cascade of protein drinks as they fell off a conveyor belt onto my head.

Nothing has yet been said at work, but my manager was stressed last night as we are understaffed this week. I wasn’t going to mention it and put more stress on him.

In the end, it’s £100. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not even a disciplinary matter. It might be worthy of a “Please check more carefully,” comment. It’s not the big drama my mind made of it all – and, to some extent, is still making.

But you may be sure I checked each and every protein drink last night. And yes – they are all dated 2026!

Mary

A Moodscope member