bacon rolls, and calls

hot stuff at the Old Duke

It was Bristol's Harbour Festival this weekend, and I was helping out on the Bristol Books and Publishers bookstall in the scout hut (an old sailmakers' loft) on Redcliffe Wharf. Except that things were pretty quiet on the bookstall, and Betty in the kitchen was on her own and struggling to keep up with the teamaking. So I left Roy to the books and spent a few hours washing up, making tea, and frying bacon.

It was good fun; I like this sort of thing, where people treat you differently when you're offering them a service, and you get to see a side of them you wouldn't if you met on equal terms. Fortunately, they were mainly really nice. And surprised at the prices; several times people would offer more money than needed, and I would have to explain that 70p was the price for tea or coffee... though the chap who asked for something a bit posher was disappointed:

"'cino, please"

"Sorry?"

"Cappucino, please"

"Sorry, we just do coffee..."

Somewhere along the way I lost my mobile phone; it must have jumped out of my messenger bag as I cycled across the cobbled quay. This was a worry; I got home, and rang the mobile number just in case I'd left it at home.

Silence.

Then we went down to the scout hut later, to pick up my books, and I checked under all the chairs and tables.

Nothing.

So I phoned Orange and reported the phone lost.

The next morning S pinged me on Instant Messenger. She'd received a phone call in the afternoon from someone who'd found the mobile, and called the last number on it, which was S's. She said that she was going to leave it at the Severn Shed, a bar on the harbourside.

S had tried all day to phone me, but she was using the hub phone number, and we don't usually use the hub phone, which was lying around with a flat battery. So she didn't get through.

I went down to the Severn Shed.

"Oh yes," said the manager. "It went into the lost property box."

He rummaged. He made a few phone calls. He was very helpful, but the phone had gone.