So, a few days after my bag was stolen (or I was 'a victim of crime' as the email from the police said), I received an email from a nice man called Josh.
He had found my bag dumped by the side of Waterloo bridge and picked it up. My email address was written in the front of my diary.
I was SO happy to hear this. It not only restored a little bit of faith in the kindness of strangers (it would be much easier to leave a dumped handbag if you spot it than to pick it up and contact its owner, right?) but I must say I was delighted to get the bag back. It was my mum's, bought in California in the early 90s, and has many stories behind it.
Nearly all of my things were still in it (minus card holder, phone, Kindle - and, weirdly, a cheap pair of sunglasses and a couple of bits of make-up, which I can only think must have fallen out at some point).
It made me wonder (and cringe slightly) what the assorted contents of my handbag would say about me to a stranger. I don't keep a diary, as such, but in there was a tiny Moleskin notebook containing a few very overwrought passages from last year, plus a bigger notebook containing some inexplicable novel-writing notes. My Mooncup probably marks me out as a hippie; the detritus of old tissues, receipts and leaky biros and such as a bit of a mess.
I didn't get to meet Josh - he even went to the trouble of cycling to my office and dropping it off, but I wasn't there at the time. Still I will be eternally grateful for this lovely little bit of London kindness.