So I went out on Friday night. Scratch that. I went out on Friday afternoon. Was in King Tuts at 4 o'clock for my first pint and some food. I left Nice and Sleazys at an unknown hour of the morning. When I woke up on Saturday and struggled through the initial hangover mugginess. I realised that my phone was nowhere to be seen. Bugger.

I knew straight away that I had lost it as I was wearing a different jacket the previous night as I'd had a job interview before I went out. I normally keep my phone in the same pocket so a different jacket would have broken the habitual home of my phone. Presumably I was too drunk to perform the 'valuables check.' The 'valuables check' is a simple checklist of items that must be on my person before I leave any premises: wallet, phone, ipod, keys. It’s quite simple but after ten hours of drinking the simplest of tasks can become impossible.

I tried phoning it in the vain hope that one of my friends had lifted it by accident or it was in the possession of some lovely phone sitter but it went straight to answer machine. Bugger.

I called Sleazys next hoping that it had been found by staff or handed in. The guy on the end of the phone said he would check and held the receiver away from his ear long enough to convince me that he actually was away looking for it. He came back to tell me that no phones had been handed in. Bugger.

I began to worry. My poor little friend was lost and alone in the big bad world. How would it survive out there? Would it be safe without me? Could it find its way home? I realised then that perhaps a devious fellow had happened upon my phone and was making calls to distant lands or sordid chat lines. In a panic I contacted the mobile company and had my outgoing calls barred.

I was now very annoyed at myself. There's nothing worse than losing things, especially phones or wallets which are probably the most important items I carry. What was most annoying was that I was expecting calls from potential employers who now had no way of contacting me. Continued Unemployment. Bugger.

In a moment of desperation I phoned the taxi company. I was asked several questions by a tired sounding woman: what time was I picked up at? Where was I picked up? And where was I dropped off? Unfortunately I was incapable of answering any of these questions. I barely remember even being in the taxi. The woman on the end of the phone sighed at me. Yes I know I'm an idiot and wasting my time but please don't sigh at me. I hung up and resigned myself to the fact that I was phoneless. Bugger.

Later that evening I’m staring at the floor glumly wondering if anyone has messaged me when I see a an flat rectangular object under the bed. I pounce forward. Surely it couldn’t be?

I pick up the battery from my phone. How the hell did this get here? I investigate further and find the back panel that keeps the battery in place. Suddenly vague memories come flittering back into my head as I squeeze my are under the bed. I remember not being able to get my key in the door. I remember sitting at my desk spinning on my chair until it began to make me feel queasy. I remember standing up and being so drunk and dizzy that I fell forward and tripped. Things fell from my pocket…My hand clasps around my phone! It’s actually there. Huzzah.

I was so drunk that I had fallen, dropped my phone and completely forgotten about it. Now I had to phone the mobile company back and get it unbarred. What an idiot. It’s almost as chumpish as the time I went out drinking with this rich guy who refused to let my friend and I pay for anything. When I did finally buy a drink I left my wallet with £60 in it on the bar. But that’s a different story which also involves two seven foot Irish rugby players and a dodgy strip club. I’ll save it for another time