Wallet and Grimace Seven o'clock and awake after a good night's sleep. Asked myself this question: do you know where your wallet is? Four hours of searching, plus revisiting Anton's place (which I am keeping an eye on) and the cybercafe round the corner and I had to reach the conclusion that I had lost it, possibly left yesterday while in a daze of tiredness, in the cybercafe I now type this in. Searching for hours on end takes you to a desolate place. And actually deciding to cancel your cards comes as some kind of relief. Fortunately nobody seems to have been enjoying a spending spree with them. And I am still able to get money from the bank though if I brandish my passport. I also took myself off to cash converters today to see if my laptop had been converted into readies, but sadly not. The wallet was my lucky, and originally quite expensive, wallet, I'd had for years. I bought it having been talked into "making money feel welcome" by a nice Indian lady I only met once, shortly after she left the ashram she'd lived in for seven years. More washing of blood from things today. Noticed today that my shower curtain has got blood on it too making me think of Psycho. Remo is worth his weight in gold at the moment. A loquacious guardian angel. Not only is he putting in shelves for me, he also replaced the locks, will replace the security light that conveniently gave up the ghost at the weekend and will be working at my place from time to time in the next few days. Two neighbours, Naomi from next door and the lady opposite, also dropped by to gossip and be sympathetic. And nice phone chats with Mum and Mase and Bob and Trace too all helping. Actually feeling okay now, and fairly relaxed. Simply going to work tomorrow, and not doing the bloody stuff will be nice. Have three funny, and very early birthday cards left by Anton and Anna for me at their place. Interesting one from Trotsky the cat to "the bloke who feeds me sometimes". A nice "born in the 50s" badged card from the babies, and a card featuring the late Joe Strummer of the Clash. The message, in Anton's hand, indicated that there were no cards featuring Rommel, so I'd have to make do with an English hero. This of course, a complex and insulting reference to the occupation of Guernsey during the second world war, but well meant.