Lost property

The other week I had a crazy time where a lot of things were in play.

I was preoccupied.

I had just been doing a printing course with Carenza and it was the end of a long day and I was heading home.

As the train pulled out of St Pancras I looked out of the window and had the shock of recognition - that familiar backpack under the bench was mine.

I stood up and said ‘No’ and everybody in the coach looked at me.

I managed to refrain from pulling the emergency cord.

I patted myself down – purse phone and keys were in my pockets. 

Should I get off at the next stop and go back?

 But the trains were very sparse due to engineering works – I had already had a long wait.   I would just resign myself to the loss of the bag, now quite old and faded.

However, as soon as I passed the point of no return, I began to recall the things in the bag which I valued.

My Swiss army credit card (like a pen knife but cooler)

A compact backup phone battery Nigel had sourced

But the thing that had me saying ‘Oh’ (to the further alarm of my fellow passengers) was the gift Carenza had just given - a craft-market hairslide in my colours and a card she had made me herself.

Once home, I gloomily registered with lost property.

There were no matches.

A whole ten days later, I received an email saying the bag had been handed in. It didn't refer to the contents.  

Nigel would pick it up on his way back from work.   But when he got to Lost Property it was shut. 

Eventually, nearly two weeks after losing it, I could bear the suspense no longer, took the train and picked it up myself. I could barely wait to unzip it. 

Everything was still there. Including my lovely card and hairslide. 

I asked about the person who handed it in, but their details were not available. 

Whoever you are, thank you. You've restored my faith in human nature. X