I had cheese, and it is gone. Certain I was that I did not finish my deliciously mouldy wedge of cheese. The delightful little strips of prosciutto, for sure. The small brick of fancy French Brie? But of course!
But hand on my heart and strike me dead for a liar, I would swear when I left the room that not only was there a solid wedge of stinky blue Roquefort awaiting my return, but an elegant sufficiency of tiny baguette rounds on which to spread it.