Today

Panic because Paul couldn't find the Bentley keys. He'd done a wedding with both the Bentley and the Daimler (its first outing), and, when he came to put the keys away, only had those for the Daimler in his hand. Was very hot and bothered, so decided to come home and have another look on Friday.

He phoned me at work - "I can't find the keys anywhere and they're the only ones I've got and I've another wedding on Saturday". Decided not to rail at the fact that he hadn't got around to getting a spare set and started to talk him through the sequence of events of the day before. Had he gone outside the garage after parking the Bentley? How was it that, if he'd parked the Daimler first, that he hadn't already put away the Daimler keys, and so on. Had he gone back to the Daimler after parking the Bentley? Not sure. Nothing in either boot, glove lockers etc.

Occasional seats - they were used, weren't they as there were quite a few bridesmaids? Could keys have got tucked into them when they were folded up?

Certainly could. Genius! There they were! "What would I do without you, you've saved my life, etc, etc, etc"

In My Day

In the days when having a Bentley, even in the way of business, was an impossible dream, Paul ran a frightful Vauxhall Victor estate. He'd hand painted it in white domestic paint in an effort to spruce it up, so it was really smart.

Lost the keys one day. Had no idea where they might be. Looked everywhere. This was before we were married or living together so I couldn't really search through his parent's flat or his underwear drawers.

How were we to drive anywhere? Easy. This was an ancient car, after all. Paul simply hotwired it every time we had to go anywhere. How about getting in and out of the car? Well, although the driver and passenger doors resisted attempts to be forced, the tailgate was much easier. So, in order to go anywhere, Paul first had to crawl into the car from the back end, open the boot catch, crawl back out, hotwire the car, crawl back into the car and we were off!

It rather inhibited our ability to go anywhere looking smart, but then we were a long way before smart. Paul had what was then a wardrobe staple, a black needlecord jacket. Rather ancient and needing much steaming and pressing before it was wearable. He wore it anyway. I attained by means of getting married, the priviledged position of being able to perform this enviable task. What could this be, rattling around in the lining? (The pockets were long since shot to pieces.) Could it be the keys?

Certainly could.

Which kicked off a lifetime together of Paul assuming that I know where everything is. And I have to say, I usually do.