Threesomes?

Granny is in London in her usual picking-up family mode. A London currently grey and gloomy, echoing her own feelings. She had her wallet stolen on the underground this morning; fuller of money than usual, unfortunately, because she'd intended to do some Christmas shopping after having her hair cut. She thinks it was stolen, anyway. Which is worse, she wonders? the thought of just having been careless - did she just drop it? - it has been known; or the thought of some neat-fingered bastard dipping into her bag. And no, she did not lose half as much as those wretched Farepak people, robbed by big businessmen who unlike them will not be having a hard time over Christmas. But it was quite enough, and she is feeling sick about it.

She made the discovery when looking for her wallet to pay friendly, very thin, hairdresser who has cut her hair for twenty years.They'd spent the session beforehand just as they usually do, discreetly bringing each other up to date with the latest developments in their ever changing life-stories (and, via the mirror, with his ever-changing hairstyles; granny prefers to look at him while he is working. Who likes to stare at their own very naked face while hairdressers do their worst?) Very friendly, very thin hairdresser's account of his life trumped hers easily this time; since she last saw him, he'd gone to Las Vegas to get married to his long-term girlfriend, with the wedding put up on the internet so their absent friends could all attend at least virtually.He gave Granny the website address and invited her to attend virtually too - if a little belatedly - but in all the hoo-hah she has forgotten the address already. Really she should have paid him twice his usual fee as a wedding present; in the event she couldn't pay him at all; he was very nice about it, said she could send him a cheque. Whereupon she returned home, disconsolate, no shopping done, but grateful for her granny travel card - she does not keep it in her wallet. Just as well. Cardless as well as cashless she'd have had to walk from Baker Street to Shepherd's Bush, not the most scenic of hiking trails. She could have asked thin and friendly hairdresser for a loan, perhaps and added the money to her cheque. Or perhaps not.

She didn't know which fitted her feelings better: the pink-legging-clad baby who wailed in its buggy through most of her session, while its mother had what looked like sheets of plastic paper applied to her head, or the three seasonal snowman decorating the hairdresser's window, that keeled over as if melting every two minutes or so. Passing small children lingered and laughed at the sight, their mothers moving them on with great difficulty. Granny did not linger - she headed for Baker Street London Transport Lost Property Office to report her loss. Hopes of wallet and cash being returned to her are zero; but still, there the Office was, so why not. The nice people behind the counter take phone numbers these days and email addresses. Some things have improved then - once you could get no information without going back to the office. But so she was told have the numbers of pickpockets improved - gone up that is -and their skills at picking pockets have improved likewise. Very professional they are these days, the woman behind the counter said. Not quite approvingly.

Granny's flat was still full of the smell of burnt toast, from a yet earlier disaster with a maverick toaster; she'd forgotten all about this till walking in at the door. It made up her mind for her. She has decided not to go out again today. Don't disasters often come in threes? -don't they usually? Her mistakenly walking under a bus, say, would not add to her merriment. She'd better not try to climb a ladder to water the plant on her balcony either, let alone fiddle with the electrics for any reason whatsoever. She'll stick to her laptop for the moment. Too bad that someone's chosen this afternoon to work with an electric drill just above her head.

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PS. Update. She needed have worried.... the 3 disasters (minor she'll admit) have all been and gone. She has two debit cards. She only took one with her this morning. When she went to get the other out of the drawer she discovered it was the very one she'd thought had been in her wallet, so cancelled. Perhaps it's not such a bad thing to be stuck in consumer-fest London without easy access to cash, though it's not exactly convenient, just when she'd been planning to do her Christmas shopping. But at least, short of a foursome, she needn't (being much too supertitious - blame her vast age) worry her head any more about falling under that bus.