I’ve been holding off telling my parenting people things about my missing wallet situation in the hopes that the wallet would magically turn up in the police office or returned to me in the hand of an incredibly handsome (and single) dream man. The last thing I was going to do was go running to my parents, I’m a big boy and must deal with issues like a mature adult. However, reality has other plans and as finance declined, fees rose and discovering that I couldn’t even log into my NatWest online banking, I remembered that this “big grown up man” was the same one who’d lost the wallet in the first place, had gotten his german bank account frozen through inept care and had of course, done every other stupid thing that gave reason why “Laurence Williams” is the best punchline from here to Cardiff. So, I bit the big one, readied the gun, held my breath and typed out an email to my father.
The response to which was a concise “yes-we-know” stream of information, as having read my blog (I’d forgotten my parent’s startlingly good internet literacy), they had already canceled the cards, ordered new ones and were ready to help out if I asked, reminding me very much of the clear cut point that should never be forgotten; “duh, we’re your parents”.
It is at this point that I realise I don’t even know the German word for Gratitude. Thankfully, you don’t need to spell a word to feel it.