He was going in.
Knees bent, arms outstretched, he took hold of the beast and began. Its solid mass revealed no secrets, gave no quarter. Yet he forged on, determined that he should succeed.
He would not be beaten.
As his fingers eventually closed around his prize his eyes flashed in triumph.
‘It’s okay!’ shouted Dad jubilantly, his arm reaching under the sofa cushions. ‘I’ve found the remote!’