I need a couple of car keys as a prop for the play. I don't drive a car and am not aware that old car keys are sold in charity shops. (Why would they be??) (Oh for the huge flea market in Barcelona that left me black-footed and still Schubert-cassette-less.) So it seemed like wonderful serendipity when a workman in reflective garb reached towards me over the plastic barrier of his men at work enclosure in front of the low shopping centre on Princes Street, reached and stretched, and held out to me a handful of keys including a precious key with a car-looking-like fob. My heart leapt momentarily. Until I realised it couldn't possibly be intended for me. Obsessed.