The bwown cashmere jumper

We're about to enter an whole other world. The world of kid logic.
We're at a party at our friend's place in norfolk. It's night, and the lawn is lit with burning torches. We're sitting around a table, shooting the breeze, sipping wine (and fizzy water). Suddenly a little voice pipes up. "Excuse me, have you seen my bwown cashmere jumper? It's very precious to me. My mother bought it for me." No. We haven't seen it. Where did he last have it? "In case we haven't grasped the enormity, he continues. "It's from Brora. It's very expensive." We take pity. I scan inside the house, and S takes a torch and accompanies the lad on a tour of the grounds.Eventually, they find a crumple garment in the undergrowth. The kid is overjoyed: "My bwown cashmere jumper!" he says, grasping it triumphantly. And then promptly loses it again - quite possibly on purpose.