annanotbob2's Diaryland
Diary
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Purse
So. I lost my fucking purse today. It must have fallen out of my pocket while I was fishing around for a poo bag for Shirley, while we were walking up the pier or back to the car. I put some petrol in at the garage and when I went to pay - no purse. It took a while to grasp that it really wasn't there, not in either of the massive pockets, nor on the floor in the car. The guy in the garage was cold and unsympathetic. I called Sam and he came down and paid (grateful).
While waiting I tried to find a phone number for the place I'd had a drink, what used to be the tea rooms by the Dome cinema. No number available at all, but open till 9.30, so OK, shame about the roadworks, the traffic jam, the rush hour, but Sam took Shirley home and I headed back to what is now The Patty Guy, going the long way, the quicker way round. Praying to St Anthony as I went (we'd only been talking about him this morning, in art group). I promised to light a candle if he’d show me where my purse is.
I park illegally, run across the road, the guy shrugs, 'No, no purse handed in.' Fuck and double fuck. I go and sit in my car to think about where I can park legally for free while I retrace my steps of earlier. Ping. There's a text. The bank. There's been some dodgy activity on my card. Did I make these purchases? Send Y for yes or N for no, or not sure. Oh for fuck's sake, how can I remember what I've spent? Yes, that's my parking yesterday and that's the book I bought last night. Did I spend £33.24 in Shoreham Co-op? I don't think so, but I'm not sure, my head is reeling, the traffic is hurtling past me, what should I do? I press N and send and immediately the phone rings. I answer and it's a recorded voice from the fraud dept of the bank, banging on about which number I should call. I cut it off and make my way home, still praying absentmindedly to St Anthony.
Then I call back. No, I didn't spend £33.24 in the Co-op as that was after I'd bought my drink, the last money I spent. Phew. The card had been declined but the woman at the fraud office told me they'd spent a bit here and a bit there. I told her the last time I lost my card the person who found it paid their electricity bill and when we'd stopped laughing at that she told me that this one had spent it on food and nappies. Gosh.
All my indignation melted away. I mean, imagine. And just a couple of transactions of a few quid each before that failed blow-out in the Co-op. They’ll have got the £25 cash in my purse and my pensioner’s bus pass, which they can probably use – no one looks at them, you just swipe and on the bus you get. I mean, I am pissed off – just not as much. I haven’t got any money and as my card is blocked I can’t park anywhere or buy anything. The new card will take ‘up to seven working days’ to arrive. My bus pass will cost a tenner to replace, my driving licence twenty, I’ll need a new purse and I’ve lost all sorts of other things – my National Trust membership card is all I can remember but, well, all I can think is maybe they were praying for some means to buy some food and some nappies and that I was skint as fuck when I had kids in nappies – I used to shoplift quite often – and I’m all right now. Here I sit banging this out on my laptop in front of a big fire, my belly full of dinner. I’ve told people I can’t pay for therapy tomorrow, sewing class on Thursday, sauna on Saturday and no one minds. I can pay next week. All good, all good.
9:07 p.m. - 30.01.24
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