Relax and meditate? Only if you navigate

Further to the previous stories about turning up at the wrong house (Peterborough), I think I can top them. Years ago, when I was feeling stressed, I was pleased to find an advertisement in the local paper for relaxation classes. I signed up. Arriving for the first session, I rang the doorbell. It was opened by a young man whom I swept past with a cheery greeting. We went into the lounge where another young man was sitting on the sofa. ‘Are you here for Mrs B’s relaxation class?’ I asked, but all I got in reply was a grunt. So I took that as a ‘yes’ and settled down into the armchair to await the start of the session. We watched the end of top Of the Pops in companionable silence while I assumed Mrs B was in the kitchen. A little dog came in and I made a fuss of him. Shortly afterwards a young girl walked in. I smiled at her and said: ‘hello!’ She smiled back and continued into the kitchen. A few minutes later another young girl walked through and we smiled a greeting at each other. But after three minutes she came out again with a puzzled look on her face and said: ‘excuse me, but who you?’ Startled, I replied: ‘I’m here for Mrs B’s class.’ ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Mrs B lives next door.’ It turned out that the girls were twins and the young men were their boyfriends. their parents were out and everyone assumed I was a friend of one of the others. We all saw the funny side of it and I was in a fit of the giggles when I knocked at the right house. ten years later, I saw another advert by Mrs B about relaxation classes and, seeking to break my nail-biting habit, phoned again. ‘I don’t know if you remember me,’ I said, ‘I’m the lady who went to the wrong house.’ ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I remember you — and so do the twins next door!’ Margaret Timberlake, High Wycombe, Bucks.