And I’ve lost my passport. Again.
Best guess is that it fell out of my pocket somewhere in St Brelade. Maybe when I was talking to the old racists and made a swift exit.
It’s not a major issue. I can travel to England from Jersey without a passport in theory. I’ll get to the airport extra early just to be sure.
“Why were you carrying it in your pocket?” Yeah. I’m not sure. I know I was doing so because I pulled it out of my pocket in front of Anna at lunch on Monday and she quite rightly told me I was an idiot. That might have caused me to put it somewhere unusual and safer… But I’ve got a bag. That’s it. And it’s not in the bag or any of my pockets. Or the outer pockets. Or anywhere. So as far as I can tell I’m out of options.
I went back to the posh hotel. The manager has my number now and will call me if it appears. It’s an absolute ballache but I went back into my old room and I double checked and it’s definitely not there. I’ve asked in all the bars and restaurants along St Brelade beach. Nothing. Nothing. My scarf as well. There’s the weirdness. My scarf and my passport… I can’t work it out. The only other option is that I left it in the bus. I handed in a bag that somebody left on another bus today, so maybe karma will bring me my passport tomorrow at the bus depot when the office is open. We all have to wear masks on the Jersey bus so it’s a bit discombobulating being there when the rest of Jersey is very chill about them. It involves a pocket rummage for me every time.
I rented a car today. I needed to get back to St Brelade and retrace my steps quickly and I still hate masks. Plus the weather has just gone to shit. I got soaked to the skin trying to retrace my steps, and after the perfect becalmed week, Jersey is back to being a ship in a squall. I’d prefer to have independent wheels for the next few days instead of getting drenched at bus stops where there’s not enough room for a shelter. Taxis are punitively expensive and I like to be able to impulsively go places.
The good thing is I’ve got my driving licence. It should be all I need to get back to London. Then, my passport expires in November plus it is full of errors. Time to sort everything out… And if I end up being stuck in Jersey until November it’s not the end of the world. You can all come visit. It’s lovely over here, so long as I can find somewhere to sleep that isn’t astronomically expensive. Right now I’m back in The Mornington, my old happy haunt, and it’s still the best place. No wonder I lost my passport. My own fault for getting ideas and staying in the posh hotel. All the other guests I met had downturned lips like angry frogs. If it was the place my grandparents loved, it helps me understand how different I am from them. Even the reception staff were slightly nonplussed that I wanted to search my own room, as if I would somehow be incapable of anything so menial. The duty manager Tomas at least has my number now if it shows up randomly. We shall see.
Wish me luck for a result at the bus station or with the Jersey police. It’ll be a bugger to lose it, and your average Identity thief will run into all sorts of problems with it – although I guess this blog is a rich mine of information. My mother’s mother, Eileen Nostradamus, she predicted this would happen. It’s why I named my first pet Seth.
In unrelated news, my room at The Mornington has A DOUBLE BED. Luxury.
I’m off to sleep in it.