Yesterday share the story of the emotionally exhausting time I had when I had to go and collect daughter’s dog from her flat and I couldn’t find the key she had left for me to get in. Fortunately, the reason I couldn’t find it was that I’m an idiot, and all was well. I gained admittance, enthusiastically welcomed by Reg the dog, put on his lead, took him to the car having made sure and double-checked I’d locked the doors, then took him home to celebrate New Year’s Eve with us. This was not the end of the trauma.
New Year’s morning, after a lovely nighty at the Dolphin, I realised I could not find the keys. They was not on the mantlepiece where I had put them, not on the bookcase beside the mantlepiece, nor on the floor where I’d hoped they may have fallen. When I had arrived home, I’d shown my husband the keys, maybe he had them? No. Nor were they down the side of his chair, under the cushion or underneath the chair itself (although there were a lot of crumbs and dust under it which I must hoover up) Maybe I had put the keys in Reg’s bag? No. Maybe I had put them on the dining room table when I put the bag down? Maybe they were in the pocket of the coat I’d been wearing? or my trousers? Or maybe I was wearing a different coat? Maybe I’d put them on the shelf by the coat hooks, or maybe when I went to let Reg into the garden they were by the back door?
We have a little utility area where we keep his food, toys etc. Maybe I had accidentally put the keys down in the cupboard as I got out his water bowl, or maybe they had fallen on the floor, or somehow ended up under the doormat. Maybe they had been accidentally kicked under the freezer, or behind the recycling bins, or among the jumble of wellies, walking shoes, dustpans and an errant garden spade? Maybe I had gone into the kitchen (I’m sure I hadn’t, but by this time I was getting anxious) – I looked around the work surfaces, near the kettle, in the cupboards where we keep the tea and where we keep the cups, in the fridge – had I made a cup of tea and accidentally put the keys in with the cheese while getting out the milk? I can tell you, I’d gone beyond looking in rational places.
I messaged daughter. ‘They are somewhere in the house… our house not your house… My New Year’s resolution was to focus more and be less muddled and forgetful, not doing too well!’ She very kindly messaged back that she was sure I’d find them. I replied ‘I have looked everywhere, I must look everywhere again.’ Which I did – under every piece of furniture, in the waste-paper bin, in the rubbish bin going through it bit by bit, through every pocket of every garment I have, through my husband’s pockets, in weird places, in obscure places, outside, in Reg’s toy basket, in husband’s drawers (in his bookcase, not on his person). I messaged again ‘It is a total mystery. We have searched everywhere in the sitting room which is where I showed them to Dad, been down the sides of the furniture, underneath it, through all dad’s drawers, looked in the dining room, kitchen, Reg’s cupboard, bedroom, study…’ Daughter asked if I had checked pockets, the key pot, out the back. Yes, yes, yes, I replied, we have looked everywhere I can think of, just been through the rubbish bit by bit. It’s unfathomable! I honestly have no clue how they could have disappeared in such a short space of time.’
Then…
All was well, the key was found! I was sure I had checked, double-checked and super-checked its eventual location. As I confessed to the family –
‘I have checked every pocket inn every item of clothing I possess… except the one it was in.
Unless of course the boggart was playing a super-trick and he had it. Maybe he realised it had gone beyond a joke and sneaked it into my jeans!’
Lois Elsden 