Lost and found

Baffled by the lopsided billowing of your blouse? Confused by the bloody scrap of skin hanging from your chest? Puzzle no more my single-hump-fronted-friend.

I have found your missing breast implant.

It is by the path, nestling in the grass on the opposite side of the road to Matalan, on the Cricklewood Broadway. It’s a bit grubby now, so I’m guessing you must have lost it over the weekend; perhaps you’ve been on a hen-night and a helpful friend tossed it out of the window of your limousine? Well, wipe your crying eyes - if you hurry I’m sure it will still be there.

You can just rinse it off and slip it back in again, no?