Grotty Handbag Tells All

I was digging through my capacious handbag tonight, clearing out the grime in preparation for adding my Brand New Diary and Brand New Address Book to the mix. Am I the only one who sometimes picks through their stuff, pretending to be a detective?

Flicking through the pages of a largely empty diary, except for cryptic notations such as M:@8:30. Address book – also largely empty. Was she a sad old bird? Well no sir, says the PI's assistant. There's a receipt for WH Smith right here. Seems she bought that address book today. Interesting, says the PI. He digs deeper into the bag, wincing slightly as he is stabbed in the finger. He pulls out a wire keyring, eyeing the awkward jagged edge balefully. No car, he says. Well, says the assistant, pulling out a battered security pass. She works at Homebase, what do you expect? But she does like the Guardian. There are at least two here. Both crosswords semi-completed. She wasn't very good at the cryptics though.

Finally, they hit paydirt – coins and the dusty remains of some biscuits that escaped their baggie. The PI touches the 10p piece lightly to his tongue. Yes, he mumbles. Yes? asks the assistant. Yes, he answers. Definitely shortbread.