Another milestone.
This is blog number 300!
And as I typed those words, outside the rain started to fall. Is this, I ask myself, significant?
Rain at night time is more than acceptable; that is what I call well regulated weather!
Today came the sudden revelation that, living next to the beach, I was not making full use of the Mediterranean swept shore. Therefore, donning swimming trunks under my shorts and pausing only to collect an easy chair, book, pen, ipod, keys, oil, towel, goggles, back pack and the kitchen sink I sallied forth to take of the rays of the still strong sun.
No sooner had I finally managed to negotiate my way through our notoriously recalcitrant gateway onto the beach and had begun to plod my way towards the waves than I saw a bag lying on the fringe of the small dune outside our flat.
The bag was open and had what appeared to be papers or documents peeking out of the open edge. Closer inspection revealed a bag complete with wallet, cards and keys.
As I had seen a couple of ladies sunning themselves on the flank of the dune I approached them and was told it wasn’t theirs. The only other couple of people within sight denied any knowledge of it, though I suspect that they thought I was some sort of illiterate salesman tying to get them to part with a few euros.
I settled myself down and make a more thorough inspection of the bag. It was obviously a ladies’ bag and, as I riffled through the contents I realised that there were car keys, house keys, a French identity card, a drivers’ licence and bank cards. There was no money and no mobile phone.
Having had experience of replacing important documentation the frustration is something to be avoided at all costs, so I did feel sympathy for the absent owner. As there were bank cards and identity documentation I realised that ‘doing something’ was a pressing demand and not an action that could be left until after a relaxing read and soothing sunbathe.
For a moment I felt the same hesitation as when a bevy of hysterical children burst into my form room and told me that their teacher had collapsed. I rushed into the class and found that an elderly supply teacher had indeed fainted and badly gashed the side of her head which was pouring with blood.
AIDS publicity had been relentlessly showered on us via leaflets and lurid television commercials and for one absurd moment I hesitated to help my colleague because we had been informed that we were never to allow ourselves to become contaminated with fresh blood. What I thought my colleague had been getting up to which might have given her the opportunity to catch the disease in the first place god alone knows, but at least this tardy attitude lasted but a thought before I helped her up ignoring the blood.
As you go through a bag which obviously contained all the important identifying documents of a person you know that such a bag, which also had a wallet, would probably have contained money. Such a bag would probably have held the mobile phone of the person too. No money; no phone.
For a moment you think that, were you a clever thief you would remove all the quickly saleable items and then give the bag back and receive the thanks of the person. Perhaps if you were even cleverer, you would offer to bring the bag to the person yourself. In this way you would have found out where the person lived, where the car was kept and other information which could allow you to plunder the poor person more thoroughly at your leisure.
I sometimes think I think too much.
So I phoned the most hated bank in the world (you have to be a customer of BBVA to appreciate fully that statement) and gave them a ring informing them (eventually, when I was put through to an English speaker) that I had found the bag and within minutes the grateful owner was on the phone arranging to meet me.
The owner turned out to be a young French girl who was almost incoherently grateful to get her car keys back. Her car was parked in Castelldefels though she did not live there. She had been attending a farewell party as she was off on holiday and she had only taken her eye off her bag for two minute before it was taken. Money, camera, mobile phone all had gone. She had been quick off the mark and managed to transfer her mobile phone number; get her cards cancelled and inform the police. She had, however, as she said between delighted squeaks of relief had one of the worst twenty four hours in her life: no car; no money; no documentation etc etc. Her parents had tried and failed to get a flight to come and help her and so the finding of the bag solved a lot of problems at once!
And, of course, it gave me a warm comfortable feeling – which was just as well because I certainly wasn’t getting it from sunbathing!
This is blog number 300!
And as I typed those words, outside the rain started to fall. Is this, I ask myself, significant?
Rain at night time is more than acceptable; that is what I call well regulated weather!
Today came the sudden revelation that, living next to the beach, I was not making full use of the Mediterranean swept shore. Therefore, donning swimming trunks under my shorts and pausing only to collect an easy chair, book, pen, ipod, keys, oil, towel, goggles, back pack and the kitchen sink I sallied forth to take of the rays of the still strong sun.
No sooner had I finally managed to negotiate my way through our notoriously recalcitrant gateway onto the beach and had begun to plod my way towards the waves than I saw a bag lying on the fringe of the small dune outside our flat.
The bag was open and had what appeared to be papers or documents peeking out of the open edge. Closer inspection revealed a bag complete with wallet, cards and keys.
As I had seen a couple of ladies sunning themselves on the flank of the dune I approached them and was told it wasn’t theirs. The only other couple of people within sight denied any knowledge of it, though I suspect that they thought I was some sort of illiterate salesman tying to get them to part with a few euros.
I settled myself down and make a more thorough inspection of the bag. It was obviously a ladies’ bag and, as I riffled through the contents I realised that there were car keys, house keys, a French identity card, a drivers’ licence and bank cards. There was no money and no mobile phone.
Having had experience of replacing important documentation the frustration is something to be avoided at all costs, so I did feel sympathy for the absent owner. As there were bank cards and identity documentation I realised that ‘doing something’ was a pressing demand and not an action that could be left until after a relaxing read and soothing sunbathe.
For a moment I felt the same hesitation as when a bevy of hysterical children burst into my form room and told me that their teacher had collapsed. I rushed into the class and found that an elderly supply teacher had indeed fainted and badly gashed the side of her head which was pouring with blood.
AIDS publicity had been relentlessly showered on us via leaflets and lurid television commercials and for one absurd moment I hesitated to help my colleague because we had been informed that we were never to allow ourselves to become contaminated with fresh blood. What I thought my colleague had been getting up to which might have given her the opportunity to catch the disease in the first place god alone knows, but at least this tardy attitude lasted but a thought before I helped her up ignoring the blood.
As you go through a bag which obviously contained all the important identifying documents of a person you know that such a bag, which also had a wallet, would probably have contained money. Such a bag would probably have held the mobile phone of the person too. No money; no phone.
For a moment you think that, were you a clever thief you would remove all the quickly saleable items and then give the bag back and receive the thanks of the person. Perhaps if you were even cleverer, you would offer to bring the bag to the person yourself. In this way you would have found out where the person lived, where the car was kept and other information which could allow you to plunder the poor person more thoroughly at your leisure.
I sometimes think I think too much.
So I phoned the most hated bank in the world (you have to be a customer of BBVA to appreciate fully that statement) and gave them a ring informing them (eventually, when I was put through to an English speaker) that I had found the bag and within minutes the grateful owner was on the phone arranging to meet me.
The owner turned out to be a young French girl who was almost incoherently grateful to get her car keys back. Her car was parked in Castelldefels though she did not live there. She had been attending a farewell party as she was off on holiday and she had only taken her eye off her bag for two minute before it was taken. Money, camera, mobile phone all had gone. She had been quick off the mark and managed to transfer her mobile phone number; get her cards cancelled and inform the police. She had, however, as she said between delighted squeaks of relief had one of the worst twenty four hours in her life: no car; no money; no documentation etc etc. Her parents had tried and failed to get a flight to come and help her and so the finding of the bag solved a lot of problems at once!
And, of course, it gave me a warm comfortable feeling – which was just as well because I certainly wasn’t getting it from sunbathing!
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