So yesterday was the first day of my very own Commit to Your Own Life Program. And I took it in to my head that the very first action I needed to take was the purchase of a new bag, because that morning I had almost lost my phone while trying to stuff it in to my very cute, floral lined olive-green handbag, because I had been unable to close the zip and later found said phone lying on the driveway much abandoned.

The very idea of losing my phone knocks me sick. In it are the silly, lovely, teary text messages Mum and I shared daily. The photographs I took of her trying sunglasses on in Next looking like a nonplussed film star in a fake fur coat. All that and the rest of my life. Every message Ste and I have ever shared in Couple. My bank accounts and emails. Everything and much, much more.

So a bag that didn’t risk the loss of my lovely phone was suddenly priority. A good-sized bag in the kind of leather that ages well. With pockets, for pens and my Mother Pucker. And a zipped insert for the numerous receipts I seem to acquire on a daily basis. With a long strap so I can sling it across my body, satchel style and always have two hands available for lugging shopping and a dawdling child (a child that shook off my hand as we crossed the road last week, and informed me that holding his hand anywhere but in the town he goes to school in, would be just fine, but I needed to get off him right now!).

So I took myself to T.K.Maxx and found a bag that was just right, a Rowallan Bronco in beaten up brown leather. And then I decided that I could probably find a notebook to commit to there as well. And a handbag sized make-up bag too. So I wandered around in a smug fashion, purchases in hand along with a completely unnecessary bag of blueberry licorice, and then I was back in the car ready to ring Ste and report my commitment to betterment via the mode of retail, when it struck me that my phone had gone. All gone. Apparently forever. Despite turning my bag and the car itself upside down, by sheer bad luck on the very day I was making efforts not to lose it, I had only gone and managed to lose it altogether!

I cried. I drove home with the tears dripping. Worrying because I had not backed up my iPhone for an age because brother-in-law Louis had both set up two-step verification and changed my password and I had lost both and clearly I would never again access the inner sanctum of my own life and I would have to buy another phone out of the grocery budget and my Mum in her snazzy fur and mirrored glasses combi was lost to me forever, and Finley aged seven to twelve lived inside the phone too and now he was a hand-shaker-offerer his innocence was lost too and what if someone ran away with the meager amounts slumped in my bank account and why wasn’t the phone charged in the house so I could phone people whose numbers I didn’t have and wasn’t all this just so bloody typical of me??

Readers I had to slap myself to get a grip. 

And then I emailed my Dad to report my tragedy and he used his head and checked where my phone was on Find Friends and he said it is in the house or car somewhere and I said don’t. be. so. bloody. ridiculous. It is lost! And as we speak some hoodlum is stripping me of my assets and memories and he said, go and look in the car and I did because I do what I am told and lo and behold, there it was in the passenger door and the drama was over.

The moral of this tale? Back up your phone. Right now.

We have too much to lose these days don’t we?