Lost, and found
Imagine if you will, a Friday night. As seems to be the custom, I was as drunk as a Lord, and it was time for home. So, off I bimbled out of the pub, and wobbled off to the train station. Arriving, and then noticing one rather important fact. I was without my mobile.

Shit, fuck, damn and quite possibly bugger as well.

I staggered back as quickly as I could, back into the pub, to the table where I was sitting. My mobile phone, bold as brass. Much relieved, I meandered my way back to the train station only to find I'd missed the last train home.

Fucksocks.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 7 Nov 2008, 14:37, 3 replies)

*Click*
if only for the 'bimbling' out of the pub!
(Colonel Santiago Introduced surprised kitty to the world., Fri 7 Nov 2008, 15:02, closed)

I did that
earlier this year.

But mine wasn't there, so I phoned it and ended up meeting scary druggie in a dark bit near Victoria Station to buy it back.

Cost me £40.

Effectively, I made an appointment to be mugged.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 7 Nov 2008, 15:11, closed)

I dropped my phone
on the way to work recently; or rather, I used the clippy thing on the phone cover to clip it to my belt (never again after this).

I retraced my steps home, to no avail. Tried ringing it, no answer. So set back off to work pissed off, imagining all the shizzle I would now have to do, espesh as phone not insured (why bother, Orange always give me a new one every year no matter what), when I saw it on the pavement, plain as day, with people walking past it.

FANK FUCK!
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 7 Nov 2008, 15:48, closed)