I have lost my bag. Quite literally it contains a torn magazine and a chocolate bar. I left it in The Chandos pub in St. Martin's Lane - upstairs. Nice pub. Good leather sofas and odd beers and soft drinks that you can't normally get. I have just phoned them. It has been an hour since I left it there and what I'm wondering is - has someone nicked it? This sorry saggy bag with an ancient white chocolate and berry bar that I bought reduced in a motorway caff before christmas and never quite had the guts to put in my mouth. And a torn PC magazine from about three months ago.
I brought it out in order to put my wallet and phone into it in order not to stretch the pockets on my jeans - a new concern and one that is more my girlfriends than my own. My wallet and my mobile phone are safely in my pocket. Bad habits are really useful sometimes. Who cares about stretching my pockets - at least I haven't lost my wallet and my phone.
Incidentally the staff at the Chandos are superb. The barman was this big Aussie guy who seemed a bit of a brute but the guy I just spoke to on the phone was really helpful and he took my mobile number and is going to call me back if he rescues my bag. If not I don't relish telling my Harriet how I lost it. Ah well.
I was meeting up with a chap called Geoff tonight - I don't know him terribly well but he is joint best man with me at my mate Dan's wedding. Organising parties - all very serious.
Oh god and I discovered today that one of my ex girlfriends got married. Not only that but she only went and bloody married the guy I used to live next door to at school. Lovely guy - tall and blond and polite and all the things I'm not. Dammit. I didn't introduce them though - they met at scottish dancing. She kept on trying to get me to come with her and I really didn't fancy it. Ah well, That's life. Dammit.