On a recent night out, my friend gave her mate her front door keys to look after so she didn’t lose them. They were safe, in her friends handbag, as she discovered after having caught the taxi home alone…
This reminds me of the one time an ex and I, had actually managed to fold the inner tent of the 6 birth, neatly in the outer tent and actually get it all in the bag. Unfortunately the car keys were in the pocket of the inner tent.
And the time I was in Gran Canaria and my hubby rang on a pissed night out to tell me he had lost his front door key. Hold on, I’ll just jump on the next plane home!
My best ever excuse for being late for work involved keys. I lived in South Woodham Ferrers and was having my usual morning rush, dropped Jack off to the childminder and then whizzed into the town to pick up some stationary for work. As I got to the car, I juggled with my purchases and my car keys and, as I neared the car, I dropped the latter. Right down the drain. Try as I did I could not lift the grill cover and eventually went to the police station and a very kind policeman spent 15 minutes fishing with a hanger from the local dry cleaners.