Ezra and I have this thing about pegs on wire. It's a common feature of village houses round here. Where as some people might be admiring say, a gargoyle on a church, or a magnificent climbing rose on an ochre coloured wall in the late afternoon sun . . .we seek out pegs. Not that I don't appreciate the above things: I do muchly, it's just something about these slightly lost things, waiting for the next pair of knickers or a floor cloth to give them purpose again.