The EasyJet Blog Part Six (Harold's Fate)

'The police are looking for you' has never been my favourite salutation.

The lady at LGS luggage services at Paphos Airport had no other details apart from giving me the airport police's number.

What could have happened? What had come to pass for Harold - or even worse, what had Harold done? Okay, I thought he was a sweet little suitcase but did he have a secret heart of depravity? Had he gone on some kind of criminal spree? Or had he been trafficked and coerced? I felt sick.

Nervously, I phoned the number that LGS gave me and, when a policeman answered, enquired if he spoke English. He did, thank God and he was glad to hear from me. The airport police had Harold; they had had him since Wednesday night. He had been picked up in Departures, not Arrivals and they were under the illusion that I was calling from England having left him behind when I went home.

Now everybody was confused. Why would Harold be in Departures? Why had they not been able to trace me? The police had contacted LGS but they hadn't, apparently, added a lost suitcase and a found suitcase on the very same night 200 yards apart into any kind of workable equation.

I had to go and collect Harold; the police don't deliver. And I had to sign for him too. Still, he was alive! He was in existence! He was in one piece!

Well sort of...

We had hired our car for two days because we'd thought we'd go and see some archaeological sites on the second day ... the rest of the holiday was for some much-needed R&R in the sunshine. So, thank goodness, we had transport to the airport, nearly an hour's journey away.

So, Lion and I set off and he dropped me off, intending to circle the airport until I came out with Harold. It should only take about ten minutes, right?

Wrong.

Firstly I had to deal with LGS. You've never seen a woman so bored and unhappy with her job as the woman I spoke with. You had to feel sorry for her. And she had no explanation as to why no one had connected Harold (lost at Arrivals) with Harold (found at Departures). When I asked why, if they knew the police were looking for the suitcase's owner, they hadn't at least tried me, she had no answer. She, reluctantly (because it was such a challenge to her valuable time) led me over to the police department behind the scenes ... and there was Harold!

Now, I posted the least troubling picture first, so as not to upset you. But, I'm sorry to have to tell you that Harold was in desperate trouble. At the very least, he had fallen out of the aircraft; more likely, he had been run over. Harold was a mess. Harold's travelling life was over.

But he had had an adventure...

Harold had had his baggage labels removed and been dumped in Departures, where he caused a major security alert, closed down the airport for half an hour and only just avoided being blown up as a suspected bomb. But there was to be no happy ending. I know he wanted an adventure. But sadly, it was a terminal one (oops, bad pun, sorry).

The police were very nice; once I had explained where I lost him, they did a fair amount of snorting at LGS and filled in a long form to exonerate me (and Harold) from anything, including suspected terrorist activities, which I duly signed. They said they had looked through him for anything that might have identified his owner (and also in case he was a bomb, obviously...) and that they were sorry that one of my bottles of tablets had been badly damaged and the contents destroyed. What they failed to mention was that all my bottles of tablets were either destroyed or missing and those that had been destroyed had leaked all over everything.

If you're ready for the shock, I will now post the rest of Harold's body's pictures. In a nutshell, his top end, where the handle was, was smashed and the contents open to the elements; he was squashed, ripped and had a wheel and one foot missing. He was an ex-suitcase.

Sadly, I took him back to the LGS services desk where I made them check that the laptop was still working. Fortunately, Lion makes sure that even cabin luggage electrical equipment is padded to the nth degree so it was in one piece. Its battery, however, was flat so I needed their power. Miss Life-Isn't-Worth-Living reluctantly allowed me to test it (it was fine - PHEW!) and when I, politely, asked her for a replacement suitcase, she said, 'You must contact EasyJet.'

Having seen the state of Harold and his contents by then, I was trying very hard not to unload a shit-load of Scorpionic fury at her. I managed it but it was close. 

Being a journalist, I asked more questions about when the police had contacted them. Another lady turned up and assured me that they had only been informed this very morning, about half an hour before I telephoned and they had called my mobile several times. The police report said they had informed LGS on the Wednesday night. I showed her my 'missed calls' list which showed no calls. I suggested she called now and she did and my phone rang. She told me she was honest. I told her I absolutely believed her but it was very odd, wasn't it? She went away.

I carried Harold out of the airport to where Lion was circling patiently and we drove back to the hotel to see exactly what, from the contents, could be salvaged.

The answer, I'm glad to say, was pretty much everything. Apart from the iPad lead and all the vitamins, everything was there. But it was all covered with CBD oil and vitamin C powder and it would be a slow process taking three full days. The latter, when oxidised, turns into a gel and then sets like stone onto anything it touches. Which meant that every item of clothing had to be soaked for up to four hours to get it off. And the oil stains...

So that, my dear friends, is the story of Harold the suitcase, who wanted adventure and, sadly, found it.

Colin bore up bravely. He had to be stuffed to the gunnels for the journey home as it turns out that EasyJet was not the company to replace him and we were forced to return home without a replacement. The check-in lady at the airport did point out that he was over-weight but just three minutes of well-rehearsed and pithy explanation was enough and she waved us through.

Harold's body remains in Cyprus. We didn't know what to do with him and there were no skips nearby and, anyway, who could put Harold in a skip? In the end, we took him, empty, back to the airport as we left and insisted that Miss Life-Isn't-Worth-Living took responsibility for him. I suggested she buried him suitably with a ceremony and flowers and she looked at me as if I was totally out of my mind. I had a tiny snigger at that.

There is yet more to come - and, eventually (for us at least) a happy ending. But I will never forget Harold, the little case who wanted so much to travel and to see the world and to return home with his friend Colin and tell all the other cases all about it.