Last Friday I ended up in a restaurant in Southsea and decided to issue a challenge (a slightly inebriated one, if I’m absolutely honest) to staff.
I asked them if they could come up with a surprising array of 13 dishes because it was the 13th. I should explain that tapas was on the menu, so it wasn’t going to be that difficult.
Now some might say that I may have been tempting fate. But even though I refuse to walk under a ladder – purely because I don’t want somebody dropping something on my head – the concept of unlucky dates and numbers seems ridiculous to me.
I just don’t understand why people get so wrapped up in superstition. That black cat stuff, not walking on cracks in the pavements, it’s all in the mind. Isn’t it?