Thursday, October 07, 2010

A fear every man knows

I do the check, pressed for time. Left leg pocket - phone. Inside jacket pocket - iPod (public-blocking-out-device, Apple in origin). Right leg pocket - packet of Blackcurrant Fisherman's Friends.

No wallet.

A minor 'fuck' at this stage, it must be on the couch. Not on the couch. It must have slipped down the back of the couch. 50p and a layer of dust, but nothing. The table. No. Back to the bedroom. Not on the bed. Back to the couch. Checked there already.

The fear growing. Wore tracksuit bottoms to the shop, must be in the zippy bit. Not in the zippy bit. In hoodie. No.

FUCK. It must have slipped out of my pocket.

Check the corridor outside the apartment. Not a thing. Check the bathroom, could have left it there while having a shower. No. Check the bed.

YOU FUCKING CHECKED THE BED ALREADY.

What's the number for Mastercard? How do I cancel? My Laser! My health card! My social services card! My 1995 USIT identification! My three-years-out-of-date press card! My receipts! My gym membership!

My what now?

Panic. Fuck. Check the fridge. The milk needs replacing. "FOCUS for the love of Beethoven!" Not in the fridge. Check the inside of the microwave. On top of the radiator. Behind the telly, which is raised on the wall. The freezer. The cupboard. The washing machine. Fuck fuck fuck. Late late late.

The couch again. Losing mind. Behind the couch. All sorts of imaginings. Inside the bin. Smell is rank.

Fitzbollix's room. Not a hope. Back to my own. Giving up. Inside the laundry basket. Last chance saloon. Nothing there either. Life is over. Sweating and heaving. Life in ribbons. Bank account hacked. Someone's flatscreen. Someone's trip to Ibiza. Somebody's drinks are on me. My finances plundered.

Then I check my arse pocket.

"Ah. Grand."

9 comments:

Kath Lockett said...

That was grand indeed, Radge. You have rare skill to make a 41 year old woman cack herself laughing on the other side of the world.....

Word verification here
MENTURTI - time spent searching for items that are already on their person (ie sunglasses on head; wallet in arse pocket and car keys in car. Which is locked).

Radge said...

Obliged, Kath!

I had envisaged it as a one line blog and lost the run of myself a bit. This is what sobriety does to a man.

Kitty Cat said...

Argh it's the worst feeling ever. I've lost/had my wallet stolen about four times in the last few years. Disaster. Hooray for your arse pocket though.

Radge said...

Hooray indeed. It deserves a new arse cushion.

Holemaster said...

Left pocket: Phone and loose change
Right pocket: Keys
Arse Right: Wallet
Arse Left: Bar change pocket (notes)

I never change that routine and I've never lost a wallet, keys or phone. It could also have something to do with a sciatic nerve issue caused by wallet bulge (receipts not notes).

Radge said...

What I neglected to mention was the new jeans factor. Pockets aren't deep enough so I've had to switch around the formula. This does not sit well with me. Wallet is normally where the Fisherman's Friends were.

McMuck and the Mystery of the Kuúgleflarg said...

And all the time I bet you were thinking of ways you could pin the blame for the missing wallet on McMuck...



... just like the time you thought you lost your passport in Austria many moons ago.

As I remember it anyway.

Robert said...

I was searching for my keys, was trying to look under the sofa, but couldn't lift it with one hand, so put my keys down to free up the other hand....ooops

Word Verification; "Yetrind" the still bitter after-taste of yesterday's fried breakfast

Radge said...

McMuck - A long buried memory, and I still bristle. Ya bollocks. That's worth a future blog.

Robert - I had to read that several times to understand it. Not that you weren't being clear, I'm just a bit thick.