Someone more credulous – more given to superstitious thoughts, I suppose – might suspect the involvement of supernatural forces in the seeming sabotage of this superficially uncontentious delivery process. Or perhaps, I pondered (falling back instead, rather more keenly, on the teachings of science), it’s merely my unconscious mind trying to trip me up … But then why …? What could I possibly …? Uh …?

I had walked approximately twenty steps (was still only just approaching the Coastguards’ Cottages) when I began casually fishing around in my bag for the little envelope of cash. For some reason, I didn’t remember scooping it back into the … or maybe it … when the …?

The envelope was gone. Of course it was. It was gone. The envelope of cash was gone. It was gone. This discovery was followed by another strong whiff of … oh you know.

Okay, so now I was beginning to feel a tiny element – a minuscule tinge – of paranoia. I ran back to the bramble bush (distinguished from all the others by its glorious raiment) and hunted for the envelope. Nothing. Had it been taken out – stolen? – or … or dropped while I was in Rye, perhaps, or on the bus? No. No. Surely not.

I headed back towards the Sea Road in a panic. It was here – at the halfway point, just before the little bridge – that I re-encountered Joyce (the spaniel). But only his (yes, he’s a boy) fluffy brown and white rump. He was rooting around between some tall banks of nettles, digging for moles (as is his habit). I just … don’t ask me why I thought this or did this, but I noticed a large molehill right next to the spot where Joyce was digging and I felt a profound need, an urge, to march on over and kick at it with my foot. This I duly did, and there, hidden under several centimetres of fresh soil, was the envelope. Muddy, but still miraculously intact.

Extraordinary! I bent down to retrieve it, quite astonished by my good luck (or bad luck, depending on your take on it) at the exact moment at which the digging Joyce uncovered a mole in an adjacent hole. The spaniel drew back on his haunches for a split second, with sheer surprise (I expect). And oh! It was the most beautiful, handsome, blackly velvet mole! Unearthed! Horror-struck! Pink hands (inside their giant boxing gloves) flailing in the air. Magnificent bewhiskered winkle-picker snout vibrating wildly, sending out little Morse code messages of shock and alarm to any creature sensitive enough to receive them. Ah, and that wondrously hypnotic hairless spot on the sides of the head where the eyes should be, but where they aren’t, still blinking, somehow, instinctively blinking, sightlessly at … at …

I lunged towards Joyce to thwart his initial attack, grabbing him by the tail. Joyce was not best pleased and turned to snap at me, I rolled to avoid his teeth and crashed, head first, into the bank of nettles.