I started working regularly at another office. After a few visits, I figured out where the microwaves were and decided to bring my usual packed lunch.

The microwaves here were different to those back in my usual office. There was a time when it was obvious how to work a microwave — turn a dial for heat level, turn another dial for time.

New microwaves, though, bristle with buttons and glowing blue displays. With the ones at my usual office, you have to first select the power wattage (I always go for 900) and turn a numberless dial for time.

The ones at this new office were more complicated. They was some kind of microwave/oven combo.

I scratched my head for about 15 seconds, then pushed the blank button in the bottom right corner. The button had once had text on it, but it looked like the text had been rubbed away with use. I figured that it must have been the most popular button so was probably going to do something useful.

Sure enough, 30 seconds of heat appeared on the display and the microwave started whirring. After that, it was simple matter to add another two lots of 30 seconds.

Last Saturday, Rebecca and Ian came to visit me. They are friends from my Cambridge days (now 2.5 years past!).

Fortunately, none of us were in a hurry because it turned out to be a day of waiting.

I went to Kings Cross Station to see in their train. Patiently, I stood at the end of Platform 1. It seemed their train was late. Then I got a phone call from Rebecca. They too had been waiting for 15 minutes, only at Platform 8. English trains aren’t like German trains. They change platforms at the last minute.

Bus 30 from Kings Cross would drop us off directly in front of Ottolenghi, one of my favourite restaurants in the UK.

We waited 10 minutes and bus 30 arrived only to go straight past the stop. We waited another 15 minutes and no bus 30s arrived. We decided to take another bus and walked 10 minutes to the restaurant.

At the restaurant, there was a long queue. There always is. I think Ottolenghi is a lot of people’s favourite restaurant. Again, we were patient. There was plenty of beautiful food in the deli to gawk at.

From Ottolenghi, we decided to skip the hour long bus ride to the Natural History Museum and take the quicker trip via the Tube. The Tube is quicker only in theory, though. The Circle and District lines were shut down so it was like rush hour on the Picadilly line. In the end, it did take an hour to get to the museum.

The last time I visited the Natural History Museum, I walked straight up the grand steps to enter. This time, I was surprised to have to join a queue. It moved slowly, then quickly, then slowly again. At the top of the queue, they were checking bags. This is a new bit of security that I also encountered at the British Museum a few months ago.

We were at the museum to check out the new Darwin Centre. I had listened to a podcast about from ABC Radio National’s Science Show. It’s funny when I learn about London and England from Australian news sources.

We followed the signs and found ourselves at the end of the line. Before we knew it, we were swept into an archway and up some stairs by a wave of harried parents, children and prams, past the orange sign pointing to the Darwin Centre to the right.

‘Hey, where are we going?’ Rebecca asked.

‘I dunno, maybe this goes around and ends up at the Darwin Centre,’ I hoped.

And so we were trapped in the dinosaur gallery for an hour. It was hot, noisy, dark and fascinating. Stumbling to the bright, cool, calm, equally fascinating Darwin Centre afterwards was a relief.

No more waiting after that, it was smooth sailing, except for the bit where I lost my new glasses.

Damjan, Joel and I were celebrating Pancake Tuesday. Damjan was at the stove in an apron and after a couple of false starts, was back to his finest pancake-flipping form.

He demonstrated. ‘See? Now that the pan’s warmed up and oiled properly, it’s easy.’

‘How about one-and-a-half flips?’ Joel said.

Damjan raised his eyebrows. ‘ No problem.’ He paused, then flicked the pan a little harder then usual.

Sure enough, the pancake turned gracefully in the air, then another half turn, before landing neatly on the waiting pan.

‘Ha!’ Joel said. ‘Bet you can’t do two-and-a-half flips.’

‘Bet I can,’ Damjan grinned. He knew his tools by now. He paused again, then flicked the pan extra hard.

The pancake flew even higher, crested after two-and-a-half turns, then plopped straight down.

‘AAAAWWW!’ we all cheered.

‘Three-and-a-half!’ Joel urged. ‘Three-and-a-half!!’

‘No way,’ Damjan laughed. ‘Uh-uh.’

‘Come on!’ Joel rejoined. ‘Man Test!’

‘What?’ we said.

‘Man Test!’

Damjan couldn’t refuse a Man Test.

‘Okay, okay…’

‘No!’ I gasped. But it was too late. The Man Test challenge had been made.

Damjan held a look of intense concentration for five seconds. Then he launched a mighty pancake flip… and the pan base flew over his head, along with the pancake, and it all came down with a metallic crash and pancake splatter on the kitchen floor.

Damjan was left shocked, holding just the handle in his right hand.

‘Oops,’ Joel said.

I was waiting at the Dominion Theatre, under the giant gold statue for the We Will Rock You musical by Queen. I reached into my bag for my pink glasses case. Surrounded by the Friday night crowds, I needed my glasses so I could look out for my dinner mate when he arrived.

I opened the glasses case and they were empty.

It took me half a minute to realise that this was bad news. I couldn’t remember when I had last worn my glasses.

As I stood there in the crowd, in the rain, I catalogued the possibilities. Work. But I had just tidied my desk today. Home. I would have to tidy that tonight. Shops. Surely I wouldn’t have put my glasses down while shopping.

After dinner, I went home, took down my laundry and folded it away, emptied my bags, and sorted my mail. No glasses.

When was the last time I wore them?

It turns out I have proof.

Last Saturday, I was catching robber flies with Rebecca and Ian at the Natural History Museum’s new Darwin Centre. (Finally, a picture of my red glasses as promised.)

After the madness of the museum, Rebecca, Ian and I had tea at St Pancras station. So maybe, maybe, I had left my glasses at the wine bar.

This morning, I called the bar.

‘Hello. I may have left a pair of red glasses when I visited on Saturday night last week.’

‘…Yes, there are a pair of red glasses.’

‘Are they made of metal?’

‘It’s hard to say. They look a bit like plastic.’

‘I’ll come by to see if they’re mine, then.’

I had breakfast, got into street clothes, and went out with a giant umbrella. As I walked, I tried to avoid stepping on the dozens of worms on the pavement. The worms had been flushed out by the rain. Some lay stretched, curled, some where long, some were squat, some were round, and some had already been flattened.

I crossed my fingers. I often cross my fingers when I’m hoping. This time I crossed two sets of two fingers on my left hand and folded them over my thumb.

At the bar, the person in front of me ordered a large cappuccino and a banana. The bar had been open for breakfast since 7:30am.

When it was my turn, I said again, ‘I may have left a pair of red glasses when I visited on Saturday night last week.’

The manager heard my voice and came over. She had a pair of glasses in her hand. They were my red glasses.

‘They are metal,’ she greeted me, ‘But quite soft metal.’

‘With plastic arms for the over-ear bit,’ I said happily.

‘You’re a lucky person to get them back,’ said the other bar staffer.

‘Lucky, yes, and very forgetful. Thank you so much!’

As I walked back home in the drizzle, I could see the world and those worms more clearly then before.