We get distracted by dreams of our own
It would help if, every time I went to type "chess.com", I didn't type "cheese" instead. What a Freudian slip. I do love cheese, but 'cheese.com' fills my head with horrifying pictures of cheesespotters, listing brands and grades of cheese, noting down numbers in books, comparing their sightings... "This, Henry, I think you'll find, is the lesser-spotted Cornish Yarg..."
(I don't know why my fictional commentator just made cheeses sound like wild animals. Now he sounds like Bill Oddie in my head. STRANGE.)
My brain's probably been scrambled by the fact that Piers and I have been referring to "ssehc" for the past few weeks, because it sounds like an Extremely Magical Game of Plot-Device in a fantasy novel.
Or at least that's what I tell myself when people give me strange looks because I'm discussing ssehc on the phone in the middle of Cardiff and they think I'm debating the finer points of... something else.