Luvvie poet in despair

I clambered into the car, not noticing anything was missing, and off we motored ... until the entirely sober Posh Boots interjected: "Hey! Where's your book, your poetry stuff and the posters for the Bards?"
"Errr, hic!...errr, I ....dunno ...hic!"
We were nearly home by then but we duly turned around and drove back to the Mags, hoping to retrieve the precious documents. Needless to say, hardly any of my poems are backed up.
Alas, the barmaid there said she'd given my poetry bundle to a "lady with blonde curly hair" for safe keeping.
I thought she must have meant our friend Greta, who had attended the last half hour of the Bards and had been intending to carry on supping later in Hell's Waiting Room with her husband Commuting Mitch. Well, it was her birthday...
So off we drove to HWR only to be informed that the poetry book and other documents had definitely not been collected by Greta after all.
I went into emotional frenzy at that point... "My poems, my life's work ... gorn! All of it lost in some hazy, careless alehouse incident. Oh, woe is me, verily, woe is me!"
Well, you can imagine the scene ...
That I was so upset didn't seem to register with anyone present - apart from my beloved Posh Boots. Everyone else (Dr Gyggle, Eamonn Lairyshirts etc.) just sat around tittering about the poor, tortured poet in their midst.
Commuting Mitch seemed to find my plight especially amusing - so I called him a Very Rude Name.
And I needed another large red to settle my nerves!
In truth I was doubly tormented about the loss because among the poetry stuff was a sheaf of drama scripts given to be by Wallasey Operatic Society - and I had to get them back urgently in order to learn them off my heart.
You see, I am due, along with some other drama newbies, to give a public performance of the scripted material at the Harrison Hall, Wallasey Village, later this week.
Anyway, it turns out that the valuable paperwork had in fact been given to a certain Scubadiver - another blonde lady who had attended the Bards on Monday night for the first time, along with some of her friends, including a talented poet called Dave.
Thankfully, she'd got my email address from a print-off contained in the file the barmaid had given her so was able to alert me that she had everything safe and could return it to me.
And by this evening, Tuesday 10 March, Posh Boots had duly retrieved from Scubadiva - for my personal use and the great benefit of global art - my lost poetry and copies of my luvvy dialogue.
I shall be lighting a candle in front of a statue of Our Lady and saying some Hail Mary's in thanks for the safe deliverance of my innermost creativity in paper form... if I can find a Catholic church left open on the Wirral.
And thanks too to Scubadiver. She occasionally leaves comments on this blog ... and I hope she and her friends will come to the Bards again.