Turns out the wallet isn’t in any of my pockets either. Despite this, I remain convinced my house-proud companion has hidden it during an over-zealous spring-clean. I’ve therefore spent the previous 24-hours rifling through cupboards and drawers, as if the spirit of Jack Bauer has entered me by way of Mrs Beeton.
My perseverance is rewarded. I eventually find the wallet behind a neatly-stacked pile of clothes in the bedroom wardrobe. It must’ve fallen out of trousers that she tidied away.
Pumping my fist, I whoop like a frat boy. ‘In your face, tidy woman!’
Oddly, tidy woman doesn’t respond.