A Lost camera in Poland

Whilst on our long weekend break in Poland I lost my camera. It was in a lovely but snooty place called Sopot and a typical tourist town, beautiful pier, nice sandy beach, not forgetting the obligatory street full of shops, restaurants, bars.  The poser street is technically called Monte Cassino Street, yes

it has a poser name as well.  Somewhere between a wobbly looking building and a restaurant called Pinocchio I seemed to lose, misplace or get pick-pocked my compact camera. There were a lot of photos on it as well. We looked everywhere, around the table we'd brunched a great breakfast and around a table we'd just sat at but had failed to get served. The distance between where I had the

camera and the place it was lost could of been no more than twenty metres/yards. And I was just about to take a picture of myself with a pretty beautiful, tall, chocolate, ice cream. All of this has something to do with being half a century old and preferring food, a lay in bed and a good movie to doing anything strenuous.

I'd purchased a good insurance policy, or I hope its good but yet to find out, from the Post Office, which cost enough so I do hope it is good. However, like anything else you just can't claim insurance unless there is some follow up evidence and this meant obtaining a police report on said missing camera. Honestly I'd of really preferred the camera to making a claim and certainly a lot more than going to a Polish Police station. Walking the length of Monte Poser Street we then took a right along a road and found the Police station. It seemed new and clinically clean. The reception desk could of come out of B n Q and been put up an hour earlier because it didn't look like anybody bothered to actually sit behind it. So I stood there with the crew. Except L & B man who had a call of nature at that time on account of his stomach problems which funnily enough always arise when he is in Poland, it's the eggs he claims.  Eventually a Policeman with a large belly opened a door and poked his head out. His belly was so large I could tell his feet never got wet. Funnily enough it doesn't matter if you have a large belly in Poland you can still carry a gun on your hip. In a bolshy way the fat man had a conversation (in Polish) of course with a young man sitting in the waiting area. It seemed he was trying to dissuade the fellow from brining a complaint to the Police by being arrogant, flashing his hipped gun and trying to make a joke, which failed on tourists who such as I who didn't know what he was talking about. Another waiting man was able to translate as HMRC lady explained with me looking like a out of place plumb in an apple basket. Apparently nobody at the station spoke any English, even though this was a major tourist town, and we would have to wait at least one hour before someone could see us, who didn't speak English. I suggested we should go and forget the whole thing. No wonder insurance companies make a lot of money, people just don't claim when they have to rapidly learn Polish but don't have a phrase book.

The next day we found the Police station in Gdansk. Sopot station may have been modern in stature but this building was old and typical of a civil servant premises. The Police here also wore guns on their hips. It must be some kind of Police fashion statement is all that comes to mind. Nevertheless they are a sight to see. But may I add not as intimidating as the automatic rifles I saw two Scottish Policemen holding at Glasgow airport on our return flight. The crew crammed themsevles into a small reception area, there behind a glass partition and intercom was sat a Policeman writing into an incident log on a table. The hallway we stood in would of been comfortable for a group of small people, under four feet tall, but we were without anywhere to run to. It was small. Sparkling almost immediately decided it would be a good idea if the rest of the crew went for a coffee and just left me in this dungeon looking place. I then said it wasn't right to leave me here all alone and required a bit of moral support. I was about to request a report for a lost camera. Of course our story had to change slightly because if I'd said it was lost in Sopot they could just as well send us back to Sopot for another turn with the fat man and his dry shoes. Regardless, it still seemed a good idea for Sparkling and L & B man to go and have a coffee. HMRC lady stayed with me and helped me tell the story of the lost or possibly pick pocketed camera. I'm glad she did, for Sparkling confessed later on she would of had to tell the truth, would of had to point at me and say "he's lying, it was lost in Sopot, cuff him up and throw away the key." She's like this is Sparkling.  The man looked up from his incident log writing and gave me eye contact. I said "I've lost me camera, do you speak English?" At this point Sparkling absconded, she had broken down into laughter but kept it to herself as she went out of the heavy wooden door with L & B man, abandoning me.

About an hour later we walked out of the Police Station with the report, Sparkling and L & B were enjoying a coffee and wondering if we had been put in a cell, locked up and strip searched. Sparkles had popped her head round the front door after about twenty minutes to see if we were still in the cramped waiting area. She was worried, sort of, possibly, or she could of been planning running away with the Johnny Depp look alike she'd met the previous day.

Only so she could then claim on the wonderful all inclusive Post Office insurance for a partner lost in the bowels of the Gdansk Police station. She must of been reading the claims process while having her coffee.

The camera is still lost and I've yet to put the claim in with the Post Office. It must be those guns, handcuffs and the thought of a Polish pick pocket laughing at my photos. Somethings you just shouldn't have to put up with on holiday not to mention Dippy and Deppy.