I must have left it somewhere – the curse of the lost ignition key

IAM still not sure whether she planned it… Taking The Limo really was the sensible thing to do. It was a wet winter’s evening and our daughter required a lift to poetry appreciation at the library in town. Granted, The Jalopy was available but young Persephone really would rather not be seen by her peers arriving for the sonnet session in such a battered vehicle.

She masked her distaste behind a smokescreen of complaints that the old car smells, that the seat belt is hard to fasten, that the radio cannot be tuned to Neat FM. Besides, The Limo was waiting at the front door of Medders Manor.

It is not so much a limousine, by the way, as a family hatchback of modest pedigree but The Limo is a Rolls Royce when compared to the The Jalopy. It is Hermione’s regular mode of transport and she lavishes much care on it.

The Limo would be gleamingly fit to give a lift to any passing head of state – swish seat belts, the full suite of in-car entertainment and no odd odours. My dear car-proud wife made every show of reluctance before handing over the key to her treasured motor but hand it over she did.

I dropped Persephone off and came home to settle indulgently down on the sofa in front of the TV ready to catch up with the weekend recordings of ‘Match of the Day’ and rugby highlights.

As City slugged it out with Athletic, Hermione put her head around the door to announce that one of the Ladies Who Lunch had arrived to take her out.

Then in due course the text arrived from our daughter telling me to pick her up from the library.

I hit the pause button on the soccer with a sigh and went to fetch the key of The Limo from the drawer in the hall where I always leave the key. No key.

Well then it must be on the kitchen table, where I always leave the key on the odd occasion when I don’t leave it in the drawer in the hall. No sign of the key on the table.

Silly me, it must be in my trouser pocket, which is where I would leave the key if I had not got around to putting the key in the drawer or on the table. The key was not in my trouser pocket, nor in my jacket pocket, nor in my coat pocket.

Feck! I must have left the key in the ignition where any passing criminal could take advantage and drive off into the night. I legged it out the door.

At least The Limo was still where I had parked it – but there was no key in the ignition. No key dropped on the gravel between Limo and front door either. Believe me, I looked, though the rain was coming down in sheets

I rang for a taxi to pick up our poetry fan from the library. Then I checked, re-checked and treble-checked the drawer, the table and all pockets - but still no key.

I thrust a €20 note at the taxi driver and did not bother asking for change as I hastened to explain the horrible reality to Persephone. Together, we cleared out the drawer in the hall and swept everything off the kitchen table, without finding the key.

We resorted to groping in the dust under the sofa to retrieve a pair of slippers, the missing white queen from the chess set and a tin foil container from a Chinese takeaway. No key.

We then burrowed into the innards of the sofa to discover a 20 cent piece and three pencils but no sign of the blasted key.

Hermione breezed in just as we were replacing the last of the sofa cushions. ‘Wonderful,’ she exclaimed. ‘You found my slippers. And the kitchen table has never looked as tidy. Same goes for the sofa. I’m impressed.’

She was in such very good form that it seemed a shame to break the mood by telling her about the missing key. She took it very well – in fact she laughed.

‘Oh silly me, here’s the key, in my handbag. I had to fetch my umbrella out of the car when Gwen called. I suppose I should have put it back in the drawer.’...

I am still not sure whether she planned it. All I know is that she never apologised and she owes me €20.