What’s driving Sue Limb crazy?

Hunt and hounds

Hunt and hounds - Credit: Archant

One wishes that all driving licences, passports, car keys etc should be impregnated with the scent of a fox so that one could summon the local hunt

One wishes that all car keys, driving licences, passports, etc were impregnated with the scent of fo

One wishes that all car keys, driving licences, passports, etc were impregnated with the scent of fox so that one could summon the local hunt - Credit: Archant

I have just one question to ask you, Dear Reader: where the hell’s my driving licence? It’s the card one with a photo which can be used to confirm one’s ID, which is why I like to carry it with me at all times, as I’ve no idea who I am these days.

I have just one question to ask you, Dear Reader: where the hell’s my driving licence?

I have just one question to ask you, Dear Reader: where the hell’s my driving licence? - Credit: Archant

I used to lose my passport, but now I’ve got it taped. Taped to the ceiling, like the burglar in that episode of Bottom. But my driving licence has somehow escaped from my wallet and gone free-range, a bit like our cattle sometimes do. I half expect somebody to phone and say, “Your driving licence is all over the High Street!”

In the early stages of a hunt, looking for something is a challenge to which I rise with gusto worthy of Miss Marple. “Where were you when you last had your car keys? What did you do when you came in? Did you make a cup of tea?” (Keys are in the sink). “Did you go to the loo?” (Keys are in cesspit). “Did you throw a log on the fire?” (Keys have melted). “What cardigan were you wearing? Did you notice anything unusual about the vicar’s aspidistra? Was the vicar’s wife wearing a dress so tight that a set of car keys could not possibly have been concealed about her person?”

But after a few hours, the joys of sleuthing begin to wear off and one wishes that by law, all driving licences, passports, car keys etc should be impregnated with the scent of a fox, so that one could summon the local hunt and let loose the hounds.

A neighbour once gave me a handy little key ring which beeped when you whistled, so you could run through the house whistling until the keys revealed their whereabouts with a coy answering beep. Of course, now I have a dog, that wouldn’t work – the coy beep would be drowned out by deafening salvoes of excited barking. In fact the beeping key ring had to be dispensed with because it also beeped whenever I switched the car radio on. Had Gordon Ramsay had a radio show, the beeping would at least have been timely. But nobody ever swears in The Archers. It drove me mad so one day I parked in a rage, ripped the keys off the beeper and hurled it into a lake. Swearing.

But where’s my beeping driving licence, that’s what I want to know? When did I last have to produce it? Not since the 43mph in a 30mph zone incident years ago in mid-Wales? (I was driving downhill, in mitigation, and my infant daughter had just been sick in the back). I know! Car hire! Car hire in Provence! Steve’s special holiday jacket! But where is Steve’s jacket? Excuse me a moment whilst I race through the house – who knows, it may be sellotaped to the ceiling…

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Found it! Found the jacket hanging on the hallstand (curiously, it was in the right place) and found, in the inner pocket, not only my driving licence, but also his! I grabbed both licences, and felt so thrilled and triumphant, I had a sudden surge of energy and on my way back here I hung up the laundry in the attic, redesigned the bathroom and packed several carrier bags with stuff for the charity shop.

It’s marvellous, the positive vibes I’ve got from finding the driving licences… Hang on a minute… Oh bleeping bleep! I must have put them down somewhere…

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This article by Sue Limb is from the January 2014 issue of Cotswold Life.

For more from Sue, follow her on Twitter: @sue_limb

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