This evening Barry couldn't find his skin-tight swimming trunks so I left poor Dominie in the kitchen where she is accustomed to stay every day as I ruin prepare supper. His method of searching is akin to a tumble dryer thorough. We hunted through baskets of laundry, some alarmingly damp still airing, to no avail.
We turned the house upside down looked carefully and finally decided they must have been thrown away mislaid to be discovered at some future point.
Barry afterdisrupting the whole house eventually enjoyed his swim. Meanwhile I phoned Gillian to ask if Barry's trunks had somehow found their way back to Dorset. They had!
Is it any wonder we eat so late?
