Sneaky ring thief was pawn into temptation

I READ a heartening tale of charity shop staff who discovered £9,000 down the back of a second-hand sofa.

At this point you may well be thinking “Ker-Ching”.

Well, don’t. The staff immediately phoned the owner and reunited him with his stash.

The former owner had forgotten about the windfall — which was in £50 notes and stuffed inside a string bag — but he showed his gratitude by rewarding them with a £500 donation.

In one simple action my belief in humanity had been utterly reinforced... well, it was until last Saturday night.

Picture the scene. Me and Mrs G were out for a romantic dinner in an upmarket diner.

The food was exquisite, the service attentive and the atmosphere was cordial. We don’t go out that often but we agreed that the whole evening had been pretty much perfect.

That was until we arrived home and I discovered that my wedding ring was not where it was meant to be — on my finger.

Call me OCD but I have a habit of removing my ring every time I wash my hands.

Taking it off prevents it tarnishing and becoming gummed up with soap residue.

That said, over the years I’ve had several close calls. In fact, I’ve lost count of the number of times the ring has been left by the sink in a pub or restaurant toilet — only for me to return some time later and miraculously find it still there.

Unfortunately, my luck ran out. The fact that I’d been in my wife’s company the whole evening, apart from my call of nature, is clearly the only reason we’re still wedded.

Any married man who leaves the house wearing his wedding ring, only to return home to his missus with the third finger of his left hand bare, is asking for trouble — not to mention extreme interrogation.

Mercifully, my wife had my back on this occasion, though she was far from enamoured with my carelessness.

After returning to the eaterie and searching the premises with the management, I’m afraid my specially commissioned 18-carat white gold wedding band — with rotating diamond bezel no less — was nowhere to be seen.

Me and my wedding ring were divorced after more than 25 years.

I left all my details with the restaurant, as I did at the local police station the next day. But to date I have heard nothing. Zilch. Nada.

How anybody with a conscience could go into a restaurant toilet, chance upon a valuable piece of jewellery, knowing full well it belonged to somebody else, remove it and fail to inform the establishment’s supervisor is beyond me.

Was it a fellow diner? Surely not a member of staff? I’ll never truly know, though I guess we live in desperate times and an unattended desirable item is way too tempting for some.

Forgive me for coming over all bitter but society has become seriously greedy — corrupt politicians and fat cat bankers have done little to pacify life’s have-nots.

Times are getting harder — for every high street shop that closes a pawnbroking loan outfit is ready to spring up and fill the void and they are only too happy to relieve us of our unwanted valuables in exchange for a wad of wonga.

And, according to the police who took my details, it is all done with few questions asked about evidence of ownership.

You can barely turn on the TV these days without being bombarded by these companies, tempting you with offers to pay “top prices” for your unwanted jewellery.

They even run a “post” service where you simply drop your bangles, rings and bracelets into a Jiffy bag and they send you back a cheque.

For a fraction of the real value.

Some of these pawn-shops-on-steroids are turning the once morally sound into a nation of Artful Dodgers.

Now I can’t prove my lost piece of jewellery was swapped for some dosh but I have little doubt that had I lost my ring prior to the upsurge in these easy finance firms, I’d have a greater chance of being reunited with it.

When once a visit to the police station in the hope of a reward might have been top of the agenda, a trip to the gold shop now takes precedence.

Right now, it’s just far too easy to make a fast buck out of someone else’s misfortune.

These outlets are all too often sighted in poor or rundown areas and act as magnets to thieves and petty criminals looking to cash in their swag — gained forcibly or otherwise.

If only those kind souls who found the cash down the sofa in the charity shop had been next in line to visit the loo that night.

But you have more chance of being asked for proof of purchase at your local stash for cash shop.