It was there one minute <br />But the next it had gone <br />And nobody knew who'd lost it <br />They all put that certain face on <br /> <br />The one that says 'nothing to do with me' <br />Accompanied by a shrug of the shoulder <br />Then several months went by <br />And the nights grew darker and colder <br /> <br />Each time we wanted to use the DVD player <br />We had to use the manual buttons and wait; <br />We couldn't view episode 9 of 9 <br />Until we'd watched the other eight; <br /> <br />We dreamed of those long-lost golden days <br />When, as long as you were within range, <br />We'd just pick up the remote and point it <br />To make menu and programme change <br /> <br />Then, one day out of sheer frustration <br />I embarked on a frenzied search <br />I moved all the furniture around <br />And, as part of my research <br /> <br />Lay flat on the ground and peered under <br />The bottom of our sofa (a three-seater) <br />And, reaching into the hidden recesses of faux leather <br />Experienced a feeling that could not have been sweeter <br /> <br />Tucked away in an almost inaccessible spot <br />Was that little black magical box <br />Along with a marble, a ten pence piece <br />And a pair of discarded socks <br /> <br />I gleefully snatched the thing up <br />And shoved on the first DVD I could find <br />And, purely for gratuitous purposes <br />Watched episode 7 of 'The History Of Mankind' <br /> <br />The moral of this tale is clear <br />If you ever lose your remote for the DVD <br />The first place that you should be looking <br />Is under your three-seater settee<br /><br />Paul Gerard Reed<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-case-of-the-lost-dvd-remote-control/
