Travels without my wallet

I noticed nothing amiss till I got to the supermarket checkout, and discovered my wallet was gone.
It had been lifted expertly from my hip pocket as I browsed the aisles. Damn.
First task was to stop my bank accounts and get new cards. That means changing the details on all automatic withdrawals, before I got a bad credit rating.
I had to stop my library card, get a new drivers license, get a new medicare number for the doctors, change my lottery registration.
For two weeks I lived with little receipts to show that I was a citizen, before the replacement cards started to arrive.
My biggest fear was the dreaded “identity theft”. Would another me start to bob up somewhere around the world, running up debts, committing follies, claiming my vote, turning me into a shadow-like doppleganger.
Then on Sunday, an express parcel appeared stuffed into my letter box. Funny, that. The post doesn’t deliver on Sunday around here. My name address was printed on the front quite clearly. The sender’s name and details, however, were scrawled in such a way as to make it impossible to write and say “Thank you”.
Most of the money was gone. All the cards were intact, and I now have a set of useless duplicates.
Where in the world has wally wallet been?