Lost and Found

Now we all remember the central role my husband’s head wear played in the Carmichael’s Costa Brava mini break back July time. A PS with the appropriate links can be found at the foot of this, my final Mallorcan chapter.

Suffice it to note that although we started out one cap down (lost to Luton Airport) we have returned to Casa Carmichael with the blue still evident among the dirty washing and waiting impatiently for its next outing.

Not all was plain sailing however. Although the immortal, “Why did you let me leave it in the taxi?” was uttered only in jest as he banged on the cab driver’s door in Pollenca old town to retrieve said cap from the back seat, there were other moments during the week that Yours Truly feared it was a goner.

the Porto Cristo bill might have been low but losing this would have blighted an otherwise fab luncheon (mrscarmichael)
the Porto Cristo bill might have been low but losing this would have blighted an otherwise fab luncheon (mrscarmichael)

In a circuitously wonderful twist of fate Mr C leaving his cap in limbo at the canal-side restaurant meant I did not have to sit in the Panda or indeed even watch him navigate the indelicately insufficient turning circle ‘twixt water and ditch. No, I went back for the hat gladly and without a backward glance. I will admit to listening out for a splash but……….none came and we headed back to our apartment, for some late afternoon sun bathing and a jolly good read, fully clothed and acessoried.

Before walking down to the port for some mussels and mojitos we decided to take advantage of the hotel sauna (that by careful reading of the small print we knew was available to non-hotel guests – i.e. us over the road in the apartments – sshhh).

Mr Carmichael had been once already and believed that there must be a better, quicker and more private route home than through the cocktail bar and reception area that he had, puce and sweaty, been forced to traverse on his previous outing.

I’d had enough extreme heat way before him and went to shower.

“There’s a door to your left, left, ” he shouted through the Norwegian wood. “It probably goes up the the far side of Reception. You should give it a go.”

Normally I would ignore him. I usually do but we’d had a nice day’s outing (apart from the accordion of course) and I really didn’t want to have the G and T swillers snicker at me still steaming from the sauna so somewhat amazingly I turned left, left, went through one door, up some stairs and found myself in an ante-room with three doors leading off it. One, I could see immediately led to the hotel dining room. The second was small and somewhat grubby and the third had gravitas.

Feeling a little like Alice in Wonderland I chose the biggest hoping I wasn’t about to burst into the Presidential Suite or fall down a rabbit hole and arrived outside directly opposite our lovely gates.

These were the doors I exited:

well, well your prescience does surprise me, Mr C (mrscarmichael)
well, well your prescience does surprise me, Mr C (mrscarmichael)

It took hubby a while longer to get back to our room not least because we’d forgotten that he had no way of getting in the lovely gates or front door without a pass key. The pass key that I had in my dressing gown pocket. And for once he was phone-less (do not get me started on Mr Carmichael and his errant phone or should that be the errant Mr Carmichael and his phone?) Anyway, that soon became the least of his concerns.

“Did you go through a lot of offices?” he asked me when he finally got back, dressed and we headed out for supper.

“No.”

I stopped to collect (and photograph) his cap still hanging over the back of a sun lounger.

for pity's sake (mrscarmichael)
for pity’s sake (mrscarmichael)

“How on earth could you have got lost? There’s the door I came out.” I pointed with vigour at my grand and perfectly placed porta.

“I think I might have gone through the kitchens, ” he mused. “I didn’t see anybody to ask.”

I guess that was probably a very good thing given the fact that he was so obviously trespassing. I took a moment to photograph his route from the sauna for your delectation.

ooops (mrscarmichael)
ooops (mrscarmichael)

And in case your eyes are anything like mine, here is the sign he missed, clearly visible to everyone except my husband.

poor quality owing to both laughter and the fact that I had to creep inside to snap the wording (mrscarmichael)
poor quality owing to both laughter and the fact that I had to creep inside to snap the wording (mrscarmichael)

So lost and found to this point:

  • Mr Carmichael’s cap
  • Mr Carmichael’s cap
  • Mr Carmichael’s pass key
  • Mr Carmichael’s way

Many, many year ago when we were first together before marriage was even mooted my potential husband-to-be took me to Albefuiera, Portugal. Once we’d moved to a hotel of my choice on the second day we had a super week and enjoyed a lot of s’s that included, sun, sand, sangria, seafood. I’ll leave it there.

As we were landing back in Blighty he said, in hindsight with a strained casualness I am now more than used to, “Do you have the flat keys?”

Of course I did. His relief collapse was a vision. It turns out he’d been agonising all week about having to get Banhams the locksmiths out at gone midnight but didn’t want to worry me. Bless.

“You don’t happen to have a door key do you?” he asked last week as we lined up to board out flight to Luton.

“I told you I put it in the safe when we got to the apartment,” I replied. “You did get it out of the safe when you got the passports, didn’t you?” But I already knew the answer.

With all daughters flung to the wild winds I realised this was going to be break in numero dos for me. Ladder, brick, smashed glass, alarm blaring and an inelegant clamber over window sill, washing machine and shards of glass.

And then we remembered the Mini. “Ah ha,” you say. “We know, the one with the broken radiator.”

Bingo! In the garage, round the corner being spruced for our return and with a front door key dangling from its fob.

So, an updated lost and found:

  • Mr Carmichael’s cap
  • Mr Carmichael’s cap
  • Mr Carmichael’s pass key
  • Mr Carmichael’s way
  • Casa Carmichael’s front door key (Mr Carmichael’s fault)

And thus this list brings me to the only thing that remains forever lost. My heart to a wonderful island, Pollenca and its port in particular.

we shall return (mrscarmichael)
we shall return (mrscarmichael)

The postscript I promised:

In Which Mrs Carmichael Experiences the Reality of Ryan Air, Saves a Traveller in Distress, Embarrasses Herself and Makes it to the Costa Brava (Mr Carmichael’s cap)

The Carmichael Costa Brava Mini Break (Chapter Dos) (Mr Carmichael’s cap)

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (Mrs Carmichael Reflects on Her Sunday…So Far) (the Mini mishap)

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14 thoughts on “Lost and Found

  1. Oh boy, there are times when I think our husbands were twins separated at birth. The key thing is exactly what he would do (has done) and as for the phone…. I have threatened to throw it down the toilet, and one of these days will actually do so. Wonderful story, as always!

    1. Thank you but sorry this is a slam dunk to the Carmichaels I’m afraid. Mr C has already dropped his phone in the loo twice and peed on it one of the times before he realised it was no longer in his pocket.

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