Okay, at the weekend, I visited some friends in the sleepy Sussex village of Hurstpierpoint, and we went to the village fair. Lovely.
The following day, I discover I've lost my credit card holder and its contents. I make my friends turn their cottage upside down, and even search the bottom of their one year old daughter's pram!
No sign of the credit cards.
I spend 30 minutes on the sofa, phoning three different banks, and successfully cancel all my credit cards.
I get up from the sofa.
I've been sitting on the credit cards.
Today, the first of the new credit cards arrives. Just as well, as I need to take a taxi from Covent Garden to Battersea, via a cash machine. The cabbie drops me at a cash machine on Aldwych, and I get out, patting my pockets.
5h1t! No credit cards! Must have left them on my desk in the Covent Garden office. Back in the cab, I ring my colleague in the office to ask her if she can see them on my desk.
She can't.
Cr@p! I've lost them again. I'm still going to have to pay the driver (who has now clocked up 4 quid and I've barely gone 200 yards). And then I'm going to somehow have to get to Battersea in fifteen minutes with no cash.
The cab draws up outside the office, and I get out to go and borrow a fiver.
Guess what was hiding under my @r5e?
No, not a family of pygmies... my credit cards.
AAAAAaaaaaaaaaargh! (existential rage)
