It all began with a knife. Or rather, a missing knife. Which I insisted must be found. I'm not normally all that stroppy, but this was part of a set that stands in a wooden block in my kitchen.
'Leave it,' said Mr Penry. 'It'll turn up.'

Well, I searched everywhere I could think of. I found all sorts of things I had forgotten about, together with evidence of my dire housekeeping abilities (crusts under the kitchen unit, an empty tea light wedged behind the fridge) and still there was no sign of it.

And I went on and on. In the end, Mr Penry said he would search through the bin bags. Two of them. Hot and ripe in the summer sunshine.

Oh, it was awful. But he ploughed on, refused all help, and did his best not to retch or vomit. And still.... nothing.

We decided to leave it to the House Brownie who always seems to find the things I've we've lost. But it was still niggling away at me. Every time I looked at my depleted knife block, I worried about it. How was it getting on, I wondered? Was it lonely? Frightened?

And then I was searching for something else I'd lost in the drawer of my dresser and there it was. Just sitting there. I can't remember putting it there, but it was probably me.

I felt really, really awful. Shamefaced, I went and told my beloved I'd found it, half expecting him to be at least a bit miffed after me getting him to go all through the bin bags.

But instead all he did was nod, shrug and say 'Good job it's turned up then.'

I swear, that man really is a saint. :yes: