The day starts in the usual way - with a wardrobe malfunction.
'Can you see my bra through this t-shirt?' I ask my husband, having caught sight of myself in the mirror as I'm about to leave.
'Yes, I suppose I can a bit,' is his reply. 'It doesn't help that you're wearing a black bra.'
I just have time to change to a flesh coloured one. 'Better?'
'No not really.' The pink and the green ones are no better either and after my husband states that the original one was the best, I eventually leave.
It's going to be a hot day. Half way to Tracy's house a nagging doubt creeps up on me... did I or did I not put on any deodorant. The further I drive, the more convinced I am that I didn't and I need to apologise once again to Tracy for arriving at her house and blurting out, 'I need to borrow your deodorant!'
I then tell her about my visit to her neighbours house (well how was I to know which side of the twitten Tracy's house was on).
We get into Tracy's car to drive to the station. My little black handbag nestles against Tracy's rucksack.
'What have you got in there, Tracy?' I ask thinking I must have forgotten something very essential such as a sleeping bag and some Kendal mint cake.
'Oh, just some essentials. I like to be prepared.' I never do find out what's inside.
The train journey is non-eventful and we step out of London Bridge station and peruse the map. We look at each other.
'Any idea which way?' I ask.
'Not really, no.'
'Ok, well I'm pretty hopeless at directions but I have a good feeling that it's this way,' I say pointing left down the street. We wonder why the road names don't match up. 'Maybe I ought to use my I-phone. Yes... yes, we are definitely in the right street. Look this little blue dot shows us where we are.'
It's a while before I notice that the little blue dot is moving the opposite way down the street to the way we should be going. Time is getting on as we retrace our steps.
Out of the blue, as we are walking down Southwalk Street, towards the Woman's Weekly building, there is a commotion. From the building next to us there is the sound of a sharp explosion and then debris rains down on us from above, smashing into pieces around us.
We jump a mile in the air.
'Oh my God, we've been shot!'
'No I don't think we have, Wendy. I think someone just threw something out of the window.' Tracy is the voice of reason but I'm not taking any chances with a potential mad gunman on the lose and hurry off down the street.
We eventually reach The Blue Finn Building where the workshop is to be held. It's quite amazing to look at - rather like an ice mountain. I look at Tracy's rucksack and realise it doesn't look out of place.
It's ten past ten as we walk through the revolving doors - a bit late but still in time for coffee and boy do I need it!
Read Monday's blog for the next instalment of Wendy's Writing at the Woman's Weekly Writing Workshop.