A Fool and her Money…
Last week I had to accept that my separation from a dear and valued companion was going to be permanent. We’ve had our ups and downs over the years, but were always reunited in the end. Not this time.
Yes, I’ve seen the last of the purse with nine lives. I’ve got form for this kind of thing, so many will be surprised to hear that I’ve actually had this purse (though not necessarily the contents) for twenty years.
The reason I can date this so accurately is because I know I bought it as a replacement for the one I lost when my bag was stolen from a Starbuck’s at Victoria Station. This theft was an event entirely of my own making, as I had met up with a friend who had recently escaped the team I was working in, led by a woman, let us call her Madam X, with a diagnosable personality disorder (narcissistic personality disorder, IMHO). Having carelessly slung my bag over the back of my chair, I launched into a recitation of Madam X’s latest outrages, and we spent a happy hour dissecting her shortcomings, oblivious to our surroundings. It would have been like taking candy off a baby.
Anyway, this replacement purse had all the qualities I look for in a purse: leather, not too big, but with many slots for cards, a zip-up coin section and a compartment for notes that is actually wide enough to accommodate them and has a divider to keep receipts and vouchers separate from them.
Over the years I couldn’t help feeling that this purse liked me. It had various adventures, but it always got back to me somehow – even though sometimes it was lacking most of its contents – and whatever its condition I was always glad to see it. It fell out of my bag at the theatre, but then popped out from under a seat; a passer-by handed it to me early one Sunday morning as I retraced my steps home, having inexplicably turned up at the paper shop without it. Most recently, just before Christmas, it was handed in from a 68 bus and I collected it gratefully from a bus garage in Camberwell with every card, banknote and voucher intact – God bless Abellio and all who ride in her!
Now I’ve lost it again, and through the same MO as last time: I get it out of my bag so I can retrieve my book, and put it on my lap as I do so. I then get engrossed in my book, then stand up when I get to my stop, not noticing the purse fall from my lap to the seat or the floor.
Sadly I was not able to report the loss to a friendly bus company on this occasion. I’d made the mistake of losing it on a Southern train, meaning I had to report it by email to some impersonal central clearing house, and would have to pay to retrieve it if it turned up. Don’t call us, we’ll call you.
Now I’m engaged in the lengthy process of restocking my replacement purse (which as you can see from the picture, has all the right bits). I’ve got the bankcards, started new bookshop and bakery loyalty cards, and must now turn my attention to replacing my driving licence.
By way of consolation, I’ve got a brand new card to put in it. Morleys, the rather quaint old department store in Brixton, has had a major refurb, and with it has launched a points scheme. I’m not sure how many points you get per pound spent, or what you can do with them, but who cares? I’ve got an elegant black and gold card to put in one of the slots. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?
