A sense of loss

But this week I have good reason to believe it is indeed clinical and I have a severe dose of it.

I would never ordinarily choose to go shopping with the children; it usually ends up costing me more than I had budgeted for owing to the price of bribery. But off we trotted and things were going well. We had stopped for a coffee before heading to the last shop to pick up a decent waterproof in the sale. It was when I was paying for the goods that I realised my bag was missing.

The bag, which contained life as I knew it, was not in the pram where I was sure I had put it. That horrible sick feeling came over me. Luckily, a friend was with me so I sprinted off to the coffee shop where I was sure I had seen it last. A quick scan revealed nothing – the bag was gone. This was confirmed by the very helpful police officer who must have wondered whether I should be in charge of two children as I blubbered a description of the handbag.

All I could manage was “it was beautiful”. He notified the CCTV control room to keep an eye on my car as my keys, parking ticket and driving licence (with home address) was now missing. My husband had to leave work and get the spare key. He also had to notify a locksmith to change the locks.

Back home, reflecting on how society was rotten, I received a call from Southampton police giving me the amazing news that the bag had been found, with not a thing missing. “That’s incredible,” I said.

“Incredible?” the officer mused, “I suppose if you can’t remember putting it down on the rail while you tried on that jacket then, yes, that’s pretty incredible.” I thanked him profusely, asked him to keep that bit of info to himself and prayed no charges would be pressed for wasting police time.

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