Lost Property
Just paid a visit to TFL’s Lost Property Office in Baker Street. I left my bag on a bus, but it was picked up at a bus depot. But not before someone had gone through to see if anything was worth nicking. My phone charger (a fiver from a shop on Essex Road) and my 2011 diary were both missing, but the Bike To Work scheme certificate that would have allowed the brandisher to get a free £500 bike which I would then have had to pay for over the next six months out of my salary was mercifully intact. Phew.
I also now have last year’s diary back, which is good. I use old diaries to remember what I did and didn’t do.
They were very nice and old-school at the office, and I enjoyed sitting and waiting for my item and listening in on the other inquiries. Lots of men with(out) lost wallets, lots of women with(out) lost bags. Most were polite and contrite. One however got quite angry that their bag wasn’t waiting for them. “I rang the depot and they said they didn’t have it,” shouted one. “Did you email or phone us before coming in?” “No.” I felt a little sickly glimmer of following-the-rules pride.
But has Ian Bell resurfaced?
I’ve been too busy today. Next on my list!
(the bat, obviously. We know where the real thing is. He has been drinking 24/7 in the Bourbon & Beefsteak since England won the Ashes, leaving only to find more cocaine and swat the odd stylish 30 in a one-dayer)
I hope there was something exciting in the 2011 diary. Can we expect juicy revelations in the Daily Mail. No? No? Awwww.