Across the pond

We now know that my wife’s purse was lifted from her handbag just outside the Haymarket Theatre three weeks ago. The thief must have been exceptionally light-fingered because she felt nothing but a strange sensation that her handbag suddenly felt later. But the purse has just been returned in a large brown envelope by none other than the Nat West Bank.

All the cards were there but the thief had taken the £70 in cash and her Freedom Pass. Presumably he, or she, must have thrown the rest on to the pavement in Lower Regent Street and made a quick getaway on the nearest bus. So watch out if you are travelling on London buses or trains. Our pickpocket can travel anywhere on the system for free until the end of March and exercise his skills without even getting his feet wet.

We think it was probably a Pole, because along with my wife’s cards in the purse which was returned to us was a religious Polish card. In the envelope returned by the police there was a piece of plain paper with a telephone number written on it. My wife had called it, but had great difficulty in understanding the limited English of the lady on the end of the line, until she put a  friend on the line.

Then it was  established that she had found the cards scattered on the pavement with the purse in Lower Regent Street. No she was not responsible for adding the Polish card. And she turned in the booty because she herself had had her purse stolen only the previous week.

So The Daily Novel will not be adopting Daily Mail attitudes towards immigration. But perhaps it is worth adding another question to questionairre for would-be British citizens.

 ’Who do you most admire, Fagin or the Good Samaritan? Answers on a 0 to 10 scale.’