Monday, 3 May 2010

Stolen Purses and the Morals of the People of England

Now really.

Getting an iPhone stolen is bad enough, but to get your purse lifted out of your bag in the same fashion just a few weeks later is more than a coincidence. I really don't know what I've done to piss off the universe but seriously, it's bleeding me dry. I was merrily dancing away at Walkabout in Shepherd's Bush yesterday evening (yes, my social life swings between highly glamorous and the spit 'n' sawdust style £1-a-shot bars. I like to term it "partially classy") when it all went down. Opened my Chloe for a split second to pull out my coat ticket from my purse and in a matter of moments said purse was no longer there. God damn it.

To be honest I was more concerned about how I was going to purchase that lovely Chicken Legend I had set my sights on than cancelling my cards, but Mother Dearest stepped in and did all the dirty work for me remotely. And my lovely friends supplied the chicken. The thieves really threw a hard punch by picking possibly the only girl without a bank branch in London and on a bank holiday weekend. It was truly evil. And it certainly wouldn't happen in the homeland. Then again, neither do most things.

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