Little Love for Moll Flanders
Florida is back. Upper seventies, blue skies, puffy white clouds the whole deal. Can it be that less than a week ago the mercury was heading for the upper thirties? I don’t want to even think about that – bring on the summer and the low nineties – that’s where I live.
As part of my ‘classics revisited’ diligence, I finished Moll Flanders – the book I mean, on the lanai this morning. Unlike most readers of this Daniel Defoe classic, I could not warm to his 17th century lovable rogue. There are a number of reasons for this, but primarily its because I cannot confuse lovable rogue, with consummate liar and thief.
About a year ago I was the victim of such a one. Those who have read Moll Flanders will immediately jump to the erroneous conclusion that I had been robbed by a whore. No, though that would have been preferable to what actually happened. I was due to sit in court in London during the afternoon of 29th November, a Monday. As quite often happens in the court system the day collapsed and I was free until court the following day.
I was born and bred in London, and nothing gives me greater pleasure than the opportunity to walk it’s ancient streets. The day was bitter cold and every few yards I stopped off at a book-shop to top-up my ever burgeoning library. Just as I reached Trafalgar Square, I decided on a coffee at Café Nero. Can there be a greater pleasure than perusing new books while enjoying excellent coffee?
Evening was approaching, and it was time to return to my hotel. I gathered up my overcoat and briefcase – only there was no briefcase! While I was engrossed in my purchases, a sneak-thief had stolen it. Not a big deal I hear you say. Petty theft is a reality in big cities, and London is certainly a big city. But that briefcase held everything. My money, credit cards and driving license. My phone, PDA, car keys, essential medication for a chronic condition, everything. I stood in Trafalgar Square on a bitter cold evening in November with not a penny in my pocket or keys to my car in the knowledge that the felon not only had my car and house keys, but also the parking ticket. All I had was the key to my hotel room. As I had been widowed five years before after a 35 year marriage; I really was alone.
How this was resolved is another story in itself, but suffice to say that people who lie, cheat and steal enjoy little sympathy from me. But then Moll Flanders is fiction – right? But this was real.
