Maureen.

"So it was last Tuesday...no wait, it couldn't have been Tuesday because we drove to Chepstow and we got stuck behind a tractor! It was driving so slowly and every time we tried to overtake it, another car would drive by and we were there for half an hour. No, it wasn't Tuesday, it was Wednesday. Or was it Thursday? Thursday. No, Wednesday. Hang on a minute, what happened on Wednesday? We went to tesco and......."

In my head I'm thinking about how I'd like to take your annoying story and put it in a very dark place, then I'd sneak up on it and shout BOO really loudly then turn it into a puddle of wee.

"No, it was definitely Wednesday because I remember telling my friend how much I like this day because its the middle of the week."

Before I continue I would like to express upon you that this story is not based on anyone in particular (at least no-one who's likely to read this blog.) This technique of blathering on about inconsequential details of where you were and what you did is what the husband and I call the Maureen effect. Let me explain.

We were camping. It was a Monday- no wait, a Tuesday...(I'm joking) and I realised that I'm a creature of habit. I liked to use the same loo. And if someone happened to be using - nay, defiling my loo, I worried, fretted, got a bit upset. (I've yet to shout at the person but its not beyond my capabilities). As I told the hubby about this later on we started laughing (but inwardly I still worried...MY TOILET, my precioussses). And a character started forming in our minds of a 57 year old woman who worked on the campsite, and who thought of it as her land, her kingdom. And every time someone sat on her loo she'd do nasty things to them like turn the lights off when they were showering or hide outside their tent late at night and make ghost noises. But if she really didn't like you she would talk. Talk. You. To. Death. And her name? Her name was Doris. (Joking yet again!). Meet Maureen.

Every time someone started on an elaborate story where every point was shrouded by fluffy details, we would look at each other and know that the spirit of Maureen was upon them. We introduced her to our friends with brilliant results. One dear friend told her parents about it who, in turn, adopted Maureen into the fold. Her dad told a long story to guests and her mum rolled her eyes and said "maureeeen"! (The guests though she said "boring" though. Oops!)

For those of you now who are reading this and fearing that you do the same, don't worry, we've all been guilty from time to time of elaborating, flowering, boring other people. And I must reiterate, I am not writing this about anyone in particular. But next time you tell a story and you can't remember what day you bought your cabbage, or what time it was when you found the back to your earring, or how many people EXACTLY have read your blog and liked it (ok, that ones mine), just ask yourself...what would Maureen do?