A young woman opened the door and entered the waiting room, she then spoke to Policeman through his intercom. He pointed over to myself and HMRC lady. My eyebrows shot up in acknowledgement, she approached us. At last someone who could speak English. She explained we would have to sit here for another five minutes in order to be seen, and then she would come with us and interpret. This seemed pretty quick to me considering the last Police station it was going to take an hour just to be seen. Five minutes passed, ten minutes passed and another middle aged woman popped her head around the door. She looked at us, pointed a pen she held in her hand and spoke Polish. We shook our heads like idiots in unison and feebly asked "Do you speak English?" No reply. She stomped off. Great back to square one again, where's the nice admin girl who spoke pretty good English. A few more minutes passed and said young lady turned up again. She led us through the security door, advising us as we followed what was about to happen. They didn't need my DNA, saliva, piece of hair, to blow in a bag or to be beaten with a truncheon, thank god. We were about to be interviewed by someone and then we'd have a report written out. Of course everything would be in Polish. Well naturally it would be. Up two flights of steep concrete stairs, the décor was uniform yellow paint. I guess it must help in the interrogation process when prisoners are led away. Blinded by the blandness of style in an old building. Miss Admin pushed open a heavy old door, there sitting at the table was the pissed off Polish lady who'd pen pointed us earlier.
We had in mind just one objective, which was unfortunate. For when you have one objective it is easy to forget about details, those little things which are important. Not knowing the language probably worked in our favour. So it was, HMRC lady did a great job of describing what had happened; my camera had been lost or stolen but we didn't know what it was. HMRC described the walk from restaurant to bar or was it bar to restaurant and the alleged process of finding I'd lost my camera. To tell the truth I didn't feel of much use in the entire matter, on account of not being sure of how the thing had got lost and how it had really got lost in a different town. Not this one. Would they see through these untruths. HMRC got stuck on a point and looked at me. Oh shite, what did she expect me to say? We didn't get our story and facts sorted before we sat in this place. Hell I didn't want to contradict what HMRC said and I had a dose of rabbit in the headlights come over. Were we put into separate rooms, the statements would of been a little bit different to say the least. Hell, in situations like this some people break down. Fortunately Sparkling Eyes, (the love of my life) wasn't here she'd of had an anxiety attack walking up the stairs and I'd of been put in a cell for every armed robbery since Christmas, even though I was never in the country, all for the sake of a bloody lost camera. I replied in a confused and agreeable fashion to HMRC woman and reached for my passport. The magical document which opens doors, or could close them in some cases. It was handed over as part of the process for writing the report. The dour faced interrigatoress concentrated writing on her laptop. It was a Lenovo brand, and I noticed the fingerprint reader on it for security. My details had now been entered into the Polish Police database. It seemed like ages we were in this room but it didn't take too long for the report to be written out. All the time seemed to be taken up by the interpretation process. It came out of the printer and we were advised a senior officer had to sign it off then I'd get my copy. God, not another delay. As it turned out there was no delay at all, an unknown face behind another heavy door immediately dispatched it.
Miss Admin kindly escorted us out of the building, down the stairs through the secure door and off we went. Sparkling looked at us and said it took an awfully long time. She and L & B man didn't know what had happened to us. She'd even looked in the waiting room but we were gone. She said this with a chuckle and we got a cup of coffee for our troubles. What a relief it was all over for now.
Showing posts with label lost and found. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lost and found. Show all posts
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Saturday, September 21, 2013
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.
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Finding a lost passport
Where is my passport, I asked myself. Casting back my memory, somewhere in the depths of it I would retrieve an image of where the bloody thing was put. It wasn't working, I could see the passport in it's black leather cover, all nice and neat but I couldn't see where I'd put the thing. I just knew it was somewhere and should be in my possession. Like a tip of the tongue word which is difficult to articulate, the same thing was happening with this document. Last night I found myself in a half panic mode, but resisting the urge to panic I did something completely different. I said to myself to check first my locker at work, I'd taken it in and may have left it there. I resisted hard the temptation to blind panic, given I'd already told Sparkling she had to find her's so we could go on holiday. How awful it would be for Sparkling to be standing at the airport walking to the plane and me waving her off because I couldn't find the blooming thing. No she wouldn't go without me, I was way to important for her to go on her own, she'd need someone to talk to, well I hoped so. This morning I then checked my work locker, pulling out the box and the empty of sweets, sweet tin. Nope, it wasn't there. Hmm, this is interesting. It meant the fiendish fellow was at home. I checked another locked cupboard at work but my memory was not linking any imagery with this. I had to keep cool. Keep calm, it would turn up, the next search would have to be at home.
So after work rather than go straight home in a panic I went to the pub, there I had a couple of very nice red berry cider drinks. They did wonders in relaxing me, I had to search again but I was chilled and really if the thing didn't turn up then I'd have to put into process another set of cogs and apply for a new one regardless of the cost. The first thing was to check every coat I'd worn over the last couple of months, even a coat I'd worn yesterday and had already searched. It was all about process and elimination. Having to find something is always about elimination, but also I was thinking to myself, there are times when you see a thing you are looking for but don't recognise it because it is not facing you the right way. I imagined my passport on it's side, at a different angle. I imagined how best it would be to feel the pockets even after putting my hand inside them, just because if I had missed a part of the coats then I'd know how a hard passport would feel. As I said to my fellow drinking companion, when I returned home it would be another shallow surface search followed by a deep search. A deep underground search where every single nook and cranny is turned over. One which would take a long time and be exhaustive and eliminating. Yes the cider had helped a lot. The coats had been checked. What I did find was an old MP3 player I hadn't seen for about 8 months, which would be a kind of consolation prize. I kept thinking and searching in a relaxed way. Next I thought of the bags I carry to work. The one I'd been using the past couple of weeks, searched again even though I knew it wasn't there, then I saw the bag I had used a couple of months ago. Yes I thought. It has got to be there. As I picked up the bag the image in my memory got more salient and I unzipped the pocked I had seen. Bingo, there it was. Two fat ladies and a picture of me in a black leathered passport. How happy I am.
This means I can go on holiday with Sparkling, it means I can run away from all the pains and strains of the Fish Factory. It means I will be free, somewhere, if only for a short time with the woman I love, and she'll not have a man called Jose with a mexican moustache and olive skin pouring her drink. All I have to do now is find a holiday.
So after work rather than go straight home in a panic I went to the pub, there I had a couple of very nice red berry cider drinks. They did wonders in relaxing me, I had to search again but I was chilled and really if the thing didn't turn up then I'd have to put into process another set of cogs and apply for a new one regardless of the cost. The first thing was to check every coat I'd worn over the last couple of months, even a coat I'd worn yesterday and had already searched. It was all about process and elimination. Having to find something is always about elimination, but also I was thinking to myself, there are times when you see a thing you are looking for but don't recognise it because it is not facing you the right way. I imagined my passport on it's side, at a different angle. I imagined how best it would be to feel the pockets even after putting my hand inside them, just because if I had missed a part of the coats then I'd know how a hard passport would feel. As I said to my fellow drinking companion, when I returned home it would be another shallow surface search followed by a deep search. A deep underground search where every single nook and cranny is turned over. One which would take a long time and be exhaustive and eliminating. Yes the cider had helped a lot. The coats had been checked. What I did find was an old MP3 player I hadn't seen for about 8 months, which would be a kind of consolation prize. I kept thinking and searching in a relaxed way. Next I thought of the bags I carry to work. The one I'd been using the past couple of weeks, searched again even though I knew it wasn't there, then I saw the bag I had used a couple of months ago. Yes I thought. It has got to be there. As I picked up the bag the image in my memory got more salient and I unzipped the pocked I had seen. Bingo, there it was. Two fat ladies and a picture of me in a black leathered passport. How happy I am.
This means I can go on holiday with Sparkling, it means I can run away from all the pains and strains of the Fish Factory. It means I will be free, somewhere, if only for a short time with the woman I love, and she'll not have a man called Jose with a mexican moustache and olive skin pouring her drink. All I have to do now is find a holiday.
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