When Maureen Lipman lost her bag, she lost everything – from her paintings to her pills. Then Manchester’s Good Samaritan stepped in
Everyone has a backpack. As a species, we beetle about, humpbacked under the burden of our worldly goods. Some of us have cross-body bags slung over the backpack straps and a scarf trendily knotted over it all, so that we must writhe and squirm our way around, hot-faced, like hypermobile gymnasts auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. A couple of Sundays ago, I left my backpack in a black cab; destination Media City, Salford, to film Coronation Street. I’d taken the train from Euston with my Manchester flatmate, flame-haired temptress Rula Lenska, who treads the Corrie cobbles alongside me. We’d stopped at Sainsbury’s in the station, and then hailed a cab home. Somewhere between these destinations, my back became packless. I called the number on my taxi receipt and left three plaintive messages for the driver, a tiny gentleman with a long white beard in an ancient cab. I phoned lost-property...
I’m afraid this isn’t one of our four free articles available in full, which are set out in the first two rows of the ‘Magazine’ page.
Please click here to find them.
To buy a digital version of this issue for just £2.99, click here
