Andy, we ring misplacers must band together

When I heard that Sir Andy Murray had lost his wedding ring my response was one of heartfelt solidarity. The former tennis champion (harsh but true) had taken it off to play and threaded it through the laces of his trainers.

Unfortunately said trainers were nicked and with them his gold band, so Murray put a shout out on social media for its return.

Big mistake. Sure, he might look at his finger and feel a pang now. But after six years it will cease to matter.

Take it from me. I have no real recollection about the circumstances surrounding the loss of my first wedding ring other than that my husband was being a complete idiot, probably, and I wrenched it off in a temper.

That would show him, I thought waiting for the moment when he noticed.

I waited and waited. For his fury. For his anguish and then wide-eyed terror. Perhaps there might even be thrillingly histrionic-verging-on-french accusations of infidelity? But no.

The headlines generated when a celebrity is spotted sans ring had led me to believe that such things were a big deal. Not at Woods Towers.

Fast forward three years and my husband still hadn’t clocked it. By then the ring was long gone, who knows where, so when I reached the point of utter exasperation and thrust my empty hand in his face and said “Look!” he just smiled indulgently at my silliness and offered to buy me a new one. Which he did. A nicer one, scattered with tiny diamonds. That I later took off.

Yes, it’s true, I don’t deserve nice things if I’m not going to look after them properly.

This time, he noticed. We’ve never spoken of it again. At this point, it can probably be filed under “mislaid”.

As a first offender, Murray might have got away with it if it weren’t for his pesky appeal. Next time, I suggest he simply styles it out. It’s what I’d do.