After the trip to Gigha yesterday, Her Maj has been turning the house upside down in search of her car keys – I even had to use the spares to get it to Oban in search of new tyres this afternoon. The problem was, the last time she could remember having them was on the beach on Gigha when she was putting her rings back on her fingers (which resemble a silver knuckleduster in full regalia), and was a little concerned in case they were still there, at the mercy of the tides and herring gulls. Daisy reassured her that she’d checked the area when they left and was confident nothing had been left behind, but this good news still did not produce the missing keys. Even I joined in the fun and looked in the Great Cabinet (in which many things are placed, but few emerge) but no joy.
I had been beginning to consider strategies for recovering her keys from an offshore island without its own police office and was starting to think another expedition would be called for, when … Her Maj just now reported the successful recovery of her keys “from a different part of my handbag”. I think further comment from anyone of the male persuasion would be not only superfluous but reckless in the extreme.