I lose stuff. Not normally physical stuff; things like dates, peoples names and other vital memory functions.
On Wednesday the loss was physical, though it took me till Thursday to spot it. My MacBook Pro and the Brooks Barbican Shoulder bag I hoof it around in. Left at the side of a school gymnasium as I counted the boy’s possessions back into his bag to make sure he doesn’t lose anything.
The irony is overwhelming.
At 8am this morning was at the school bunting through the sports cupboard, filing lost property reports and praying to the galactic spirit. I visualised myself finding it and floating home with a big smile holding it close, being smothered by my adoring wife and looking into my boy’s eyes and says “That’s how you find something” – “I am the finder!”
Alas, it wasn’t handed in or at the back of the sports cupboard. It is gone. Someone else has claimed it and as I type this I am dimly aware that out in the hubbub of the City my laptop and bag have become someone else’s.
Before typing this I say goodbye to my laptop, reporting its loss to the police, insurance company and finally pressing the delete all data button on iCloud. The loss of my half-finished Stars End novel is, I’m sure to be mourned by the world of publishing.
The loss I feel more is the Brooks bag. It was perfect. It fitted a sketchbook, a pair of jeans, t-shirt and laptop. The perfect shoulder bag. Obsessed as I am about products ageing and wear patterns I can tell you it was a work of art which over my 3 years of ownership (A gift from Wife before a trip to Italy 3 years ago!) had developed into the most perfect man’s bag. My loathing of whomever now has possession of it is increased by my awareness of their ignorance of its importance to me…….. Yet I lost it. Irony again…
The insurance company will want photos as proof of ownership and the only one I can find is my facebook page header. I remember taking the picture one evening it in a grotty hotel room opposite a jeanswear factory I was visiting. I know it will sound totally trite but I did so much with that bag, it represented so much more than the sum of its parts or the utility of its function. After my boy, it was the best ever thing my wife had ever given me. (Yes that includes my XBOX)
RIP – Brooks Barbican Bag. 2015 – 2018.
Gone but not forgotten.
He's a Talented Boy 