Lost Property

Two weeks before Christmas, we had the inevitable Christmas do at work. The price was low and to say that the food was mediocre is to be very kind indeed, but the alcohol was free-flowing and I am lucky enough to have the kind of workmates who I actually enjoy spending time with, meaning that in the end the night was quite a lot of fun.

Unfortunately, in a drunken haze on my way home, I forgot to pick up my bag as I left the night bus that took me home. The next day I reported it to TfL Lost Property and, after being told that they would look for three weeks and email me whether they found anything or not, began my wait. Buoyed by recent experiences of my friends, a number of whom had stories from the last couple of months of how strangers had gone to great lengths to reunite them and their property, I was quietly confident that I would get my bag back. Adding to this was the knowledge, and relief, that I had left nothing of any value to anyone else in there; although there was the irritation of realising that my expensive pair of prescription glasses were in the top pocket.

In the middle of last week, I received a call from the Lost Property Office saying that they had my bag. I was overjoyed! The nice grey scarf I had lost with it would be returned to me just as the newspapers' beloved "cold snap" began to get colder, and my glasses would be adorning my face in no time.

My scarf was indeed returned to me, along with a notepad which had my name and email address in it. However, they were not found in my bag. Nor were they returned with anything else. Someone had found my bag, decided they liked it more than their one, and placed my scarf and notebook in their old bag, leaving it on the bus. My glasses! My lovely bag! Gone. Stolen, in fact.

While I am trying not to let this cloud my opinion of the human race in general and Londoners in particular, it has left me somewhat deflated. I just wish they had included my glasses in the bag of things they rejected as useless to them.