A weekend of success

Having booked my driving test I thought it a good idea to dig out my theory test certificate. It’ll be needed.

I remember doing my theory.

I remember passing it, too.

I even remember what the certificate looked like because there’s a picture of it on this blog.

Could I find it?

Of course not, that would be too easy.

I was under the impression that I’d put it safely in the satchel that I keep all paperwork in. There’s not much order in it. There’s is a system, sort of, but I don’t really remember it.

I emptied it out and no. No certificate. No anything driving related.

I start to wonder where it could possibly be.

My chest freezer lid, due to its location, is often a dumping ground. Could it have fallen behind the freezer?

No, although I did find £5 and my passport, neither of which I knew I’d lost.

Next to the freezer is a chest high shelf-thing. It’s essentially 6 cubby holes and 2 cupboards. Anyway, on top of that, especially under the skull-shaped bowl, is another important paperwork place. This time, though, it’s important paperwork that’s in use. But it wasn’t under the skull, could it have fallen behind?

No, although I did find 5 Lindt chocolate balls. The advent calendar goes in this vicinity and evidently, I’d dropped some chocolate. Exactly how, unsure. My thought is, you open the window and eat the chocolate. I clearly opened the window, watched the choc drop, and walked away.

I don’t know what’s more shocking, this revelation or the fact I’d lost that certificate.

Ponder, ponder, ponder — it’s fortunate I’d lost it after I’d cleared my flat. Had I lost it before then I could’ve safely considered it gone.

Had I thrown it out?

Unlikely but possible, not probable — I’ve always known it’s important so I put a pin in this conclusion.

I was pretty sure it was in the flat. I was pretty sure it was in the satchel, but it wasn’t. But I was pretty sure I still had it.

I wouldn’t be impressed with myself if I had to sit the theory test again.

So I started searching.

I searched the recessed desk in my bedroom that is as about as usable as one hanging from the ceiling. I’ve turned it into a part book stack come clear general area where I lay out my clothes. It looks much better than its description.

No.

I considered dismantling the book stack but put a pin in that idea. It’s speedy to tear down but to replace, making sure all the books fit ’cause they won’t for many combinations, is time-consuming.

I searched under the desk, which is a former filing area. And I’m happy to report, it’s remained as retasked. If anything, it’s excelling at its new storing duties. Random thing box. Electrical wiring bag. DVDs. Archived paperwork still in its box, its seal unbroken.

Not there.

I searched my wardrobe, which was pointless because I’m building a pattern.

Not there.

Bathroom (although I found my stapler).

Kitchen.

There are no more places!

I didn’t check the small cupboard where I keep envelopes, additional stationary, and hot water bottles!

Now, this, highly possibly likely — this is where the satchel first lived before it moved to under the desk.

It moved after I passed my theory test.

I’VE FOUND IT!!!!!

I’m thinking.

But I didn’t.

It’s gone.

I sat down on the sofa resigned.

What an idiot.

Still clasping to the hope that I had indeed put the certificate someplace safe, I rechecked the satchel, which by this point I’d checked 3 times, and I still couldn’t find it.

So I sat on the floor. I got out a load of A4 envelopes and I sorted the paperwork properly.

A bill envelope.

A manual & warranties envelope.

A fuck you Co-op envelope.

A work envelope for the bumpf you get given.

I found my First Aid Certificate. I didn’t think I’d lost it. To be fair, I would’ve gone to the satchel first. But now it has an envelope.

Etcetera. You get my picture. I went through a lot of envelopes.

No theory test certificate in there.

As I was putting the envelopes into the satchel, the fuck you one got itself all wedged because the Co-op are nothing but a pain in the backside. As I fought to work it free I noticed something.

The fuck you envelope was all caught up on a disruption in the lining.

On further inspection, it feels like one of those leaflet booklets you get from places like banks and driving theory test centres.

I think, this is odd.

Turn the satchel over.

Nothing. There’s no pocket.

I can feel there’s something in there, unless I’m completely losing my marbles.

Now, this is the point in a story when, after talking forever, I tire of its menialness and say:

“To cut a long story short.”

There’s a hidden pocket.

The certificate was in the hidden pocket.

It was in the satchel the whole bloody time!

I needn’t have searched anywhere else!

But at least I’ve ordered my filing.

Tomos James

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