Where are my keys?

In cliche-ridden form, I am turning into my mother. It is an abiding memory from my childhood that my mother could never find her keys in her handbag, and she would curse and grumble that the damned things always sank to the bottom and hid from her.

And now I find myself doing the same. How is it possible, in a not-particularly-capacious handbag, to never be able to find my keys? So I decided to undertake a spot-check on the contents of my handbag.

I would like the jury to take into account that this bag is only approximately 25cm x 25cm. I would also like the jury to consider the fact that this snapshot of contents takes place on a day when I have been at work, and have not needed to go anywhere with LittleBear. In light of these two facts, I can reveal that my handbag contains:

A wallet

A mobile phone (in a luminous green pouch, because otherwise it is completely invisible)

A bottle of water (belonging to LittleBear)

The remains of a packet of Cadbury's mini eggs (for emergency bribery)

A small packet of wet wipes

A packet of animal-print plasters

A tube of bonjela

A lip-salve

Three pens, of which only one works

A comb

A swiss army knife

That irritating plastic widget that looks like a calculator but is actually to let me log on to my internet banking.

An over-sized safety pin (nope, no idea)

A USB memory stick and "on-the-go" cable (because you never know when you might need an extra 32GB of memory for a mobile device...)

A small cuddly bunny

A used handkerchief

A tube of mascara that I don't remember owning

A set of house keys

A car key

Quite frankly it's beginning to look like a miracle that I ever find my keys, rather than a surprise that they're occasionally AWOL. And it's a good thing I have understanding colleagues as I stand in the middle of the office, literally pulling rabbits out of my bag, while I hunt for my car key to go home.