On Saturday I was out shopping and spotted a handbag that someone had left behind a trolley in the parking lot.
My first instinct was to look around to see who was perhaps in the process of packing their groceries into their boot but there was no one to be found. The handbag was abandoned. My second instinct was that it was a trap. My lucky, some Plonker put it there to see who’d come and get it. Then my third instinct was it was Candid Camera waiting to catch some unsuspecting bugger (that would be me) to make their name arse on national telly.
Anyhoo after about 2 seconds of comtimplation, I went up and quickly took the handbag and went back to the car. As I guiltily rummaged through a strange woman's handbag to see if I could find out who it belonged to, I came across an ID book, drivers license, purse with money and a few credit cards and department store account cards, a make up bag. But no physical address or contact telephone numbers so I could return it. There was a cellphone though, so I phoned the last number dialed on the phone – no answer. I phoned the second last number dialed and got a friend who told me the name of the owner of the handbag. Lets call her Joan.
Joan's friend said she would phone Joan on her landline and get her to call me on her cellphone. Great!
Then I killed the call and, as I was slipping it into my pocket, the phone fell and the battery fell out! No damage to the phone, but when I put it all back together, I realized I didn’t have a pin code number to turn the phone back on. Now I was stuck! How was Joan's friend gonna ring me?
The owner of the handbag was going to phone her number and get her voicemail and won’t be able to get hold of me. However, I did remember to give Joan's friend my mobile number but 3 hours later no and still no one had called me back!
If it was my handbag I'd be frantically searching for it.
I rummaged through the handbag again to find some more clues as to who I could contact.
I managed to find another telephone number written on a slip of paper inside her wallet. She had Joan's home number. At last!
I had to call a few times before someone answered. Joan finally picked up and I told her that I found her handbag and wanted to return it. She was thrilled to bits and had a Scots accent!
Turns out the owner of the handbag is a fellow Scots woman. She comes from the SAME TOWN in East Ayrshire that I come from. Her mum comes from the same town as my mum in Kilmarnock. Her dad comes from the same village that my dad was born in Hurlford, Ayrshire! Hurlford has a population of like, 10.
I shit you not! Small world, eh?
When we got home from dropping the bag off, we found a dog in our garden. Who knows how the dog got there? He was too fat to fit through our palisade fencing, its too high for him to jump (we have six foot walls with electric fence on top) and no spaces for him to wiggle his body under the wall. It was another mystery.
The was definitely someone's pet, well-looked after as he was fat as a barrel and wearing an SPCA tag with number on it. We called the emergency number on the SPCA tag and they gave us the name and number of the dog’s owner. They lived around the corner from us and, as they were not answering their telephone, we decided to drop the dog off.
In the meantime the dog was making himself right at home, eating all the cat food and exploring the house, playing with the girls and slobbering all over their faces. Urgh! I just wanted to do to find his way home in case he pissed on my carpets.
The dog couldn't stay here. Home he goes!
When we got to the dog owner's home, all the lights were on and the front door was open but no one responded to the door bell, or hooting the car horn. Eventually after shouting a few choice words, a man came stumbling out. He was pissed as a fart and was so drunk he was stumbling around his garden trying to get to us, falling over plants and shrubs in the process.
We asked if the dog was his, he practically mauled my husband! Hugging him tightly like a long-lost buddy and thanking him over and over (if he could’ve kissed my hubby he would’ve). He even told my husband "I love you!" and that he should come and visit him and Mr Bojangles (the dog) anytime!
The dog owner said he had a fight with his Mrs and he left the house earlier in the day but couldn't remember where he left the dog. How can you NOT remember where you left your fucking dog??? Creepy!!!
Rapid Exit Stage Left.
As I was preparing the supper last night, I heard a tooting at our gate. It was Joan. The lady who's handbag I returned.
In order to say thank you for returning all her belongings in tact, she presented me with a house plant (which I will no doubt execute for my lack of green fingers) and a box of chocolates (just what I need with me on constant diet).
How thoughtful was that??
What was it that on Saturday we were finding everyone’s lost property?
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