There is a silver lining to having your bag stolen, from the kindness of strangers to a strange sense of freedom, writes LUCY KELLAWAY
LAST WEDNESDAY, I had lunch with a colleague at a sandwich bar across the road from the office. We sat facing each other over a little table and ate soup from limp cardboard cups. I had slung my handbag across the back of my chair and, when we stood up to leave, I found that the bag had left before me. I’d been so consumed by office gossip that I hadn’t noticed someone had quietly helped themselves to my beautiful, supple brown leather bag – and to my entire working life that was inside it.
Bother, b******s, bugger, blast, I thought.
I’d bought the bag a year ago – in that impossibly long-ago age when it still seemed a good idea to spend an unconscionable amount of money on a handbag. Inside was a BlackBerry, iPod, £200 in cash, a wallet containing a stack of credit cards and passes, a wad of receipts for unclaimed expenses, two notebooks, my diary and my keys.
Here, I thought angrily, is the ugly side of recession. Casual crime is on the rise and the lawless and the desperate are roaming the streets nicking the handbags of gossiping office workers.
Yet, after a while, the rage subsided and I found I was in rather higher sprits than I had been before the incident. I gave this some thought and decided there are 10 consolations to having your bag swiped, many of them quite substantial.
1. Being stripped of your BlackBerry and mobile is rather nice. You panic for the first 10 minutes but, after that, it’s enjoyable. If anyone wishes to talk to you, they have to make an effort – and, luckily, no one seems to want to talk to me badly enough to try, so I’ve been left in peace.
2. Being without money is surprisingly nice, too, as people keep buying you things. So far today, I’ve been treated to a coffee, a Diet Coke and a Kit Kat. My husband slipped me a couple of 20s as I left the house this morning. I may have lost £200 but will have saved that much by the time my new cards arrive.
3. It’s not your fault. This is a great morale boost. In the past few weeks, I have accidentally thrown away an FT mobile phone and wrecked a BlackBerry by putting it into the washing machine. On each occasion, I felt shame and remorse. This time, however, I was victim rather than perpetrator, and people have been astoundingly sympathetic. The staff in the restaurant have offered me a free lunch next week. The charming call centre worker at my bank gave her condolences as if I had just suffered a tragic bereavement.
4. One has a story to tell. Such is the tedium of office life, a little drama is always welcome.
5. I keep finding things that I thought were in my bag but turned out to be under my desk or in my pocket and, each time, I experience a stab of pleasure. I’ve found my silver fountain pen! Hooray! And my make-up bag! Hurrah!
6. When my new credit cards arrive, I’ll be able to go shopping for nice new stuff.
7. We needn’t worry so much about CCTV cameras taking away our liberty. The footage from the camera in the sandwich bar failed to catch anything suspicious, which meant that the civil liberty of the miserable thief was left intact.
8. I have fallen in love (see below).
9. I feel superior to David Cameron. Spookily, the leader of the Conservative party had his bike stolen on the same day that my bag was taken. As my padlock is top-of-the-range, no one can touch my bike – which was safely locked outside the office. Too safely, alas, given that my key was missing. That afternoon, I had three FT maintenance men standing over the bike and trying in vain to smash the lock with wire cutters and a hacksaw. One of them then suggested a grinder but that would have involved running an electric cable out on to the pavement and the Health and Safety Executive gets into a terrible flap about that sort of thing.
The men then promised to try again in the dead of night when the HSE would be tucked healthily and safely into their beds. They assured me that my bike would be free the next morning. So I borrowed a fiver for a Tube ticket and went home bagless and bikeless. The next day, I arrived at work to find the bike still locked up outside. That left me one option – to throw myself at the mercy of the fire brigade.
So, last Thursday morning, I walked down to Southwark fire station and rang an old-fashioned bell. The huge red doors slid open and a hunky fireman with shaved head listened to my tale and said he’d ask his boss. The boss, a sweet-looking boy who looked about 15, said they’d be round in a jiffy. A few minutes later, a great red fire engine with a flashing blue light drew up outside the office. It did a U-turn – stopping traffic in both directions – and out jumped not one but four firemen. Two of them got busy with a power generator and the world’s largest pair of secateurs. The other two flanked me on the pavement and submitted themselves to wild, gushing thanks. The lock was swiftly cut and I had the freedom of London again.
10. London is not overrun with thieves trying to do you over. It is overrun with people who are kind and helpful, and four of them are heavenly, handsome firemen.
