Anyone who followed my bike ride down the US Eastern Seaboard, and anyone who’s read the book that followed, will know that in Savannah, Georgia, I had an unfortunate incident involving my handlebar bag.

(SPOILER ALERT – look away now if you’re reading Second Breakfast In America but haven’t got to that bit yet)

Incident No.1: For the first time in all my travels, I had something stolen from my bar bag, almost from under my very nose, but after a high speed pursuit and an unbelievable amount of hassle, the stolen item—my trusty iPad—was miraculously retrieved and returned to me by Officer Jackson of the Savannah Police Dept. I was so relieved, but also a bit freaked out at the unlikeliness of it.

Incident No.2: On Sunday I cycled to do the weekly shop at our local supermarket, something I used to do regularly during the pandemic lockdown. Before shopping, I had to take some cash out from an ATM. I put the £100 in a stamped addressed envelope, sealed it, and tucked it away in my handlebar bag to post later. It was only when I got home after the shop that I realised the envelope had gone. Just as happened in Savannah, I also realised I’d been quite inattentive to it whilst shopping, probably giving a crafty crook ample chance to spirit it away. In fact, they could well have seen me take the cash out, and then tagged along as I roamed the aisles checking lists of ingredients, just in case an opportunity presented itself. Convinced it was stolen, I didn’t go back in to the supermarket again until passing it yesterday, just in case by some faint chance it had turned up.

‘Oh, is this yours?’ said the lady at the Sainsbury’s help desk, holding up my valuable, unopened envelope. ‘It was handed in and I was going to post it to the address this afternoon.’

The thing is though, how did it leave my bag? I’m 99.9% sure it couldn’t have fallen out. So if it was taken deliberately, why on earth was it then handed in, untouched? Felon’s remorse? Stolen then dropped by an inept thief? Naughty child who was then rumbled by their mum? Or could it be that my handlebar bag is in fact some kind of portal, whereby items placed in it may become randomly relocated to some unknown point in the universe for a while, before returning like a boomerang to the bag’s/portal’s owner? Whatever it is, it’s very strange.

SPOT THE SIMILARITY COMPETITION – Friend of the Blog John Mills sent me the following photo, taken at a recent recording session. Can anyone spot the connection? I know, it’s a toughie. A single Minstrel cut in half is this week’s tempting prize. (You can claim the other half of the Minstrel if you can think of any more similar connections that John and I haven’t already thought of yet!)

In return, I sent John the following photo. His latest album, a stunning performance of Panufnik’s beautiful Violin Concerto with the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra, is available here, and in all good shops and online streaming services. As I listened to it in the car for the first time, I realised that the number plate of the parked car in front of me was PPL, the organisation responsible for collecting all music royalties. Was the car perhaps operating like the old TV detector vans, tracking down any sneaky motorists listening to Panufnik illegally?

NEWS OF FAMOUS VIOLINIST’S DARK PAST – If you click on a piece you’re listening to on Amazon Music, you have the thrilling chance to learn something new about it, via their ‘X-RAY’ feature. Imagine my surprise when I found out that John—someone I thought I knew well—had a dark past, changed his name a while back, and was also a hell of a lot older than he looks.

STOP PRESS: I’ve found it. Here’s the clip, sorry John. And you said you couldn’t play the piano!

AND FINALLY – well done the Arsenal. You made it. North London forever.