Of late, I’ve been a bit distracted. I’m going to have to blame it on being ill. My illness might be something to do with looking for a house, I’m not too sure.
So imagine my suprise (actually, now that I’ve prewarned you, it won’t be so much of a suprise) when I got a phone call from my dear friends at egg telling me that I’d lost my wallet.
I assured him I hadn’t lost my wallet at all. I knew it was safely tucked away in my coat. Then I realised he was right, I had lost my wallet. Kerfuffle. He kindly told me that my wallet had been found and I could find it at Eastern station. But where is Eastern station I asked? Eggy had no idea, he just knew it was there.
Any learned Londoner will tell you there is no such thing as Eastern Station. So being the intelligent person that I am, I deduced that it must be at Euston station, a station sounding a bit like Eastern, but clearly being very different.
And there it was, my beloved was at the lost property counter, waiting for me patiently, like a well trained pup. However, just as I was about to be terribly thankful, I discovered that it was a big trick. They wouldn’t give me back my wallet until I’d paid three pounds. How rude I thought – surely this is blackmail – you can have your wallet back, the wallet that is yours and we know is yours, if you give us three pounds.
Apparently it was ok though, it was written on a sign on the wall – three pounds. So there it was, I paid three pounds for the return of my wallet and the person who returned it didn’t even get a penny.
Until they get to heaven.
To add to the list of lost and found. I lost my wedding ring. But now, it is found. Amazing Grace!