Miracle In The Rucksack

We've all been there. You've a night out planned but you're as skint as a dodo. Foraging tactics are required: an almighty search throughout the house for discarded or forgotten about money: pockets, drawers, cupboards, couch crevices, plant pots, the cafetiere (you just never know). I searched all of these but to no avail. 

Desperate, I vaguely remembered putting some cash in my rucksack during the summer festivals. I feverishly dragged it out of the wardrobe and reached down into its inner pockets. Alas, I felt no coinage; just a lump of paper; but no ordinary lump of paper. What I took from those inner pockets rocked me back on to my haunches: fifty quid in notes. Fifty quid! I had no idea I'd left so much mazola in there. It felt like a miracle. And what a story! Not only did I have fifty quid but I imagine the film rights money I'll receive, once Paramount hear about this, will be astronomical.