When I was at school I used to supplement my pocket money by scavenging the campus grounds for lost dropped coins. Pretty soon I got to know the optimum locations to find forgotten pennies, shy glinting silver denominations, and the odd jackpot of maybe a pound coin or two.
School uniform regulation trousers, skirts and blazers I guess are not designed to keep loose change safely contained.
There were several spots were I could pretty much be guaranteed a quality haul. Where pupils would picnic on the playing fields, lounged back against tree trunks, I would often spy a quiet nest of congregating coins bedded down between where grass meets bark.
After school I could wander along the wooden bench seating down by the quadrangle and ease a hidden income from beneath the wearied slats.
Many times I wondered whether coins, once released and dislocated from their compatriots in the grubby warmth of a student’s pocket, maybe get lonely and seek each other out for company? A basic attraction thus explaining little clusters of treasure.
Where does all this lost and forgotten currency go now? Do people stop dropping moolah so carelessly when they enter the workplace? I think not.
So, why, as I sit alone in the office having got here at eight for the fourth day in a row, can I not find the mere thruppence I lack to purchase a dodgy cappuccino from the machine?