As most of you know, my bank card was stolen on Sunday morning in Central London. So today, I went to the bank to try and find out if I could get money out, cancel my old cheque book, get a new card sent home and find out if any money had gone missing from my account.

All good on all counts. I was able to get £200 out just by answering questions, new card sent off, blah de blah. I asked the woman at the desk if she could check my balance and, as the last time I checked it, on Saturday night, it was £1150-odd, I said I expected it to be that. So when I saw that I had £600 left and there was a lump sum of £500 taken out right at the top, it was pretty obvious to me the guy had found a way to get money out of my account. The woman told me I'd need to report the crime to the police to take it forward.

So I found the police station. I'd never reported a crime before, so I didn't know what to expect. The woman at the desk was really fucking rude and impatient, but eventually she got all the details down, a description of the guy... and I sat down and waited for the two police interview people to arrive.

They did, after a long wait. A blonde woman and a stout young man. I took a seat and began to retell the story. It was pretty clear early on they were assuming the classic "good cop, bad cop" line, with the woman accepting my story and the man challenging everything. It was quite exciting. I didn't know it actually worked like that.

The guy said the £500 had been taken out on the Friday, which didn't make much sense, but I assured him I'd not taken £500 out at any point. He kept saying "Look, mate, we get a lot of timewasters coming in here. I'm not accusing you, but..." and suchlike. I didn't mind. I knew my story was straight. I'd had my stuff knicked. Money had been withdrawn.

So he finally told me there was nothing they could do, they couldn't make an official thingy cos there was no evidence the card had been stolen, and certainly none that the money had been taken. I'd have to go back to the bank and try and resolve it there. By this point, I was starting to give up any hope of getting back the £500. I was planning on stopping drinking, eating on a tight budget... y'know.

Suddenly, the most awful realisation hit me.

On the Friday, I'd paid... the deposit for my new halls. The sum? Yep, £500. Head in hands. "Holy fuck, I've just realised I've made a massive mistake."

Explained it to them. The guy looked properly pissed off, the woman showed me out. I went out onto the street feeling like the biggest fucking plum in the world.

Jesus.

But at least no money's gone. :-D