I’m sure there are loads of people who have, over the years, tucked an emergency fiver into an underwear drawer, or popped a spare tenner into a favourite book. Because then, it’s like found money – silly money – money you’d forgotten you had which, therefore, feels like free money.
My mother used to do the same sort of thing – but with dried flowers. She’d forget about them completely, until she opened page 76 of something by Anita Brookner or Penelope Lively, and suddenly find some wild flower she picked in Norway, or a pansy from her parents’ garden, and she’d be completely delighted for the rest of the day.
Now, I’m not much of a one for dried flowers. I suppose what I’m really referring to is – the joy of found things. Although, I think that being as happy about a dried flower as anyone else would be about a tenner, goes some way to explaining my background.