Every loser wins

It's a lovely spring morning. All of the day's plans are laid out before you, leaving just enough free time here and there to improvise at will. Perfect. And now it's time to leave the house and catch the bus into town. So, one final pat of the pockets to check everything's in order and off we go - keys, phone, wallet... wallet? Oh, no!

And so, it begins. First, the inevitable sinking sensation that makes you feel like you've done ten laps on the Gravity Max roller coaster after a night on the Vodka slammers. Then your brain begins to compute a kind of slash and burn triage: right. I can afford to miss the bus, spend an hour searching for the wallet and then walk into town but if I don't find it, I must go to the police station immediately to report the loss. Meanwhile let's start to search in ridiculous places.

There's definitely a distinct lack of wallet on the table where you always leave it but that doesn't stop you returning there every ten minutes just to make sure. Meanwhile, more alarming thoughts enter your head like the fact you'll have to cancel your credit cards. Oh Lord, what about the train ticket I booked on the credit card I'm about to cancel? Anyway, maybe the wallet fell into one of these training shoes (you pick up a shoe and shake it like Tom Cruise in Cocktail). Maybe it's lodged between the mattress and the bedstead (you lift the mattress to no avail and remember you must spring clean more often).

Now it's time to up the level of absurdity and start looking in cupboards in rooms you haven't been in in the last week. Oh, and don't forget to keep going back to the table where you always leave your wallet to find it's still not there. Funny that. You shake another shoe or two, lift the mattress again and remember that your driving licence, ID , two other credit cards you've never used, social security health card and travel pass are all in your wallet. You're back on the Gravity Max. You lie in the foetal position until you remember it's time for the two hour walk into town for an unmissable meeting. You pat your pockets, stroke the Table Where You Always Leave Your Wallet with your hand as if that will help matters and leave the house.

Later that day, upon your return, having been told at the police station that it's better to wait a few days to report the loss in case the wallet appears, you make one last tour of the house, rattling cupboards and shaking innocent shoes until you retreat, defeated to your room. One last, desperate lift of the mattress and 'Clang!', something hits the metal bedstead. Surely not. Gingerly, you reach deep inside the duvet cover and feel the familiar shape of your wallet. You want to kiss it but you don't because you're from the North of England. You shake its hand and leap for joy. It's a lovely spring evening.

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