Now I am not one for telling tales but:
Never ever ever separate a man from his handbag [or is it manbag?]
We had a great lunch at our local pub, good food, excellent ales and laughs galore. Having finished lunch and drank our fill of some fine ales we decided to stagger back to our place some 150 yards away. Showed Paul & Jenny around our hovel then it was time to drop them off at the train station 5 minutes drive away.
At this point the world had ended, God had caused a calamity and cheddar cheese had been de-invented.
PAUL HAD LOST HIS HAND/MANBAG!!!! :eek: :eek: :eek: :eek: 😨 😨 😭😭😭o_Oo_O🥶🥶🥶
"My hemorrhoid cream is in there, says Paul looking distressed".
"Oh no, my nail clippers are in there too".
"Oh my God, my bus pass".
"O Lord please take me to hell, my bloody £2 voucher for Wetherspoons is in there also".
"Well I might as well just die now, I am sure there was 16p in change in the back pocket".
Off goes Izzy legging it to the pub like a white female Mo Farah on...
Thanks, Ral and the fleet footted Izzy.
While it might not have happened exactly as you so eloquently describe, there's more than a hint of truth about the incident.
I was forced into buying the hand- tooled , ( perishing nuisance ), Bespoke , manbag.
Never argue with Wife and Sister-in-law.. is my motto.
At every opportunity, it manages to hide. It's part of a ghastly escape conspiracy with my wallet, phone and even the poppies that I keep Having to replace.
All the complements and other wonderful comments, while mostly fiction, are only a reflection of the kindness ,tolerence and affection that people show to us.
I blame that last tot ( ?) of scotch that you forced down me.
We'll do it again, in Portugal , eh?