Skip to main content

A heartwarming tale of uplifting stuff

There are many dreadful things in the world, and Lord knows I don't need to enumerate them here. So I thought it worth sharing a brief story of something cheerier, it may seem inconsequential, in point of fact it is, but it gave me a lift which lasted all week.

I was off out running, as is my wont, and my phone was in my pocket. I should point out at this juncture that it was in there functioning as a stopwatch, I wouldn't wish to give you the impression that I'm the sort who can't bear to be parted from their phone. I can. I actively enjoy it. But that's by the by, off I went, pounding the pavements, up hill and down dale etc,my phone faithfully ticking the minutes by nestled snugly in my pocket. Until it wasn't.

And lo there was swearing and a gnashing of teeth, for whilst I am not inordinately fond of my phone, sadly it's a necessary evil, if only as a stopwatch. So I turned and started the long run back. It's nicely symbolic that when I discovered its disappearance I was at the bottom of a descent, so my phone finding mission started with a long and gruelling ascent, featuring further swearing. As I ran I inwardly cursed my stupidity. I wasn't worried about it being nicked. It is by no standards an impressive phone, it is able to send and receive phone calls and texts, which is pretty much all I require of it, apart from keeping time. Nicked, probably not, lost, almost certainly, it was a long run, it could have been anywhere.

Just as I neared the end, peering at the ground like a mumbling lunatic, I became dimly aware tthat I was being yelled at. I turned and a smallish scally lad in standard uniform of trackies, hoody and BMX came bombing up to me. He enquired as to whether or not I'd lost my phone, I replied I had. To my general astonishment he then handed it over. So far so mildly surprising, were I, for example, to find a lost phone I'd probably just put it in a prominent position, maybe hand it to a nearby copper or in at a shop counter, dependent on where I'd found it. This lad, however, had not only been riding around looking for me, he'd gone to the trouble send texts to various people in my contacts list, asking them to ring the phone so he could work out where to give it. As an example of someone actually giving a monkeys it was peerless. I was astonished, relieved, and grateful, but he'd ridden off before I had a chance to gather my thoughts and thank him properly. It was a like a mugging in reverse. So thanks, Matthew (he went to the length of introducing himself in said texts). Thanks a lot, that one selfless act lifted my whole week.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A whole new world.

I appear to have moved into the pub. Now, I don't wish to give the impression that this has come as a complete surprise to me, we'be been planning to do so since shortly after I bought it, but still, it's sort of snuck up on me and now I'm waking up and thinking what happened? How come I'm here? The reason for this discombobulation is that this move was initially a temporary measure. Mrs Coastalblog had some relatives coming to stay, and it made sense to put them up in our house while we decamped to the flat. It's still a work in progress, but a mad week of cleaning and carting stuff around made it habitable. I had a suspicion that once we were in we'd be back and forth for a few weeks. As with many of my hunches, I was completely and utterly wrong. As it turned out, once we were here, we were here. Things moved at pace and, now our kitchen appliances have been installed, there's no going back, the old house is unusable. It's left me with slightly mi

Genius loci

 At the back end of last week, I heard a sound which told me Autumn had truly arrived. It seemed out of place, as we sweltered in unseasonable warmth, but it is as reliable an indicator if the seasons turning as leaves browning. A slightly comical, slightly mournful honking, early in the morning then again at the turn of the day The pink-footed geese are back. It is one of those sounds which is part of the fabric of this place, the siren being tested at Ashworth Hospital means it's Monday, Bringing practice means it's Tuesday, and the migration of the Pinks to their wintering grounds at Martin Mere means it's time to dig the jumpers out. It is one thing I do think I'd miss if I moved away. The arrival of these faintly ludicrous birds, strung out loosely against the sky in their rough v formations is something which seems to have burrowed its way deep into my consciousness, a sign that yes, things are definitely not all they could be, but some things are still working. T

Mad Dogs and Immigration Ministers

It is with no small degree of distress that I'm afraid to say I've been thinking about Robert Jenrick. I know, I know, in this beautiful world with its myriad of wonders, thetre are many other things about which I could think, the play of sunlight upon dappled water, the laughter of my children, the song thrush calling from the sycamore tree a few yards away from where I type this. Yet the shiny, faintly porcine features of the Minister for Immigration keep bubbling up into my consciousness. It's a pain in the arse, I tell you. A few years ago on here I wrote a piece entitled The cruelty is the point in which I argued that some policies are cruelty simply for the sake of it, pour decourager les autres . I was reminded of that recently when I listened to Jenrick defending his unpleasant, petty decision to order murals at a migrant children's centre to be painted over. You've probably heard the story already; deeming pictures of cartoon characters "too welcoming&