The chair (the yield)

So the chair, from behind and under its cushions, yielded about sixty knives forks and spoons, 2 toothbrushes, 1 tea bag (loose), 1 box of tea bags, 1 jar of coffee, 1 slab of chocolate, one box of chocolates, 8 pens, 1 cheque book, 3 socks, 3 tea towels, 2 pairs trousers, 3 shirts, 2 fitted bedsheets (folded) and 1 place mat.
It's occupant, who had for lack of space moved to another chair, was able to move back into residence, the elderly gentleman was able to have a cup of coffee at last, and it became possible to eat the salmon and asparagus that I'd cooked for lunch and to pay the gardener who comes once a week.

In the garden a spinach plant that had long gone to seed blew over, and the gardener put it for compost and dug over the plot. The elderly lady made so many calls demanding the 'stolen' spinach back, that the gardeners family and her own eventually had to unplug their phones for the evening. Without memory, sense sadly goes too.