Oh, no, where are our stairs! Just left the house to get provisions for beans on ciabatta with a quinoa side dish and the damned stairs have left home.
Why they have gone we do not know, they didn't leave a note. There was no bad feeling the last time we stepped on them, not from us anyway. We weren't aware of any disagreements or ill will, what could have happened.
We looked for traces but could find no evidence. Rufus the bloodhound was no use, not having any old socks to prime his nose was a bit of a let down yet even so the old rug soldiered on, walking round in circles making a keening noise.
Yes, the blighters have buggered off without so much as a creaky goodbye.
How we get back inside is not straightforward. Climbing up the fall-pipes with bags of shopping is an option. Perhaps not as tricky as it is for those inside if they decide to leave and step out of the house without checking there is a floor below their feet.
What it has revealed to us is the lovely construction of the angle brackets formerly used to hold the stairs in position. We will have to be satisfied with observing their elegance and charm while dipping our bread in cold beans and sucking on chewy grain sitting here on the pavement.
Step into the groove.
You've got to prove you can raise me up to the highest door.
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