Skip to main content

Don’t walk on by...

A day trip to a town can provide you with a lot of things – some new clothes maybe, a nice spot of lunch, a visit to somewhere interesting, the realisation of how easy it is to help another human being...

Ooh. I wasn’t expecting that last one when we boarded a train to Edinburgh last weekend, at an hour so early even coffee only moved my functioning state from ‘comatose’ to ‘barely conscious’.

It was a lovely day, once I woke up. I managed to buy some clothes that hopefully don’t scream “mid-life crisis” too loudly (unlike the dusky pink trousers I purchased a couple of years ago in the mistaken belief I would look hipster-ish, but actually made me look like a retired Colonel), for starters.

I even came perilously close to purchasing a cool pair of trainers, but my innate fear of looking like a berk cut in, and I concluded that footwear costing nearly as much as my first car was probably a unnecessary expense. (Bright orange, with fur-lined panels. The £100 car, not the trainers.)

Some lovely lunch at a trendy cafe where the staff worse shorts and deck shoes, and all the food seemed to be sold in parts, was great, plenty of cappuccinos were consumed, and even a fly-by from a flock of defecating seagulls, who hovered menacingly above a street corner whilst the lights were red and you couldn’t cross the road, didn’t put a dampener on the proceeding. Or, luckily, on us.

One thing about the day wasn’t good, though. It’s easy to become jaded by daily reports of ‘dole-scroungers’, people cheating the benefits system, and other such depressing stories.

So I’m always heartened to see someone selling The Big Issue, as you know that this person has struggled with homelessness and long-term unemployment, but is now working (and not begging) by selling the magazine for £2.50, which they buy at £1.25.

Selling it really does help them to help themselves, and they go through an induction process, have to adhere to a code of conduct, and must work within their own pitch. These are people trying hard to get their lives back on track.

So whilst we sipped our posh Italian cappuccinos in a cafe, the vendor on the corner opposite was politely attempting to encourage passers-by to buy one of his stock. The weather was OK, it was a Saturday, so really no reason for people to rush past. Strangely, though, everyone seemed to be unnaturally interested in the pavement.

10 minutes, and hundreds of people, passed, and still not one copy of the magazine changed hands for what is realistically a pretty small amount of money. Even my posh cuppa was more than the cover price.

I suppose what I’m trying to say without offending you is this: The warm glow you’ll get from genuinely helping another human being will outlast any beverage you might buy instead of a magazine.

Don’t walk on by. Your small change can make a big difference.

This post first appeared as my "Thank grumpy it's Friday" column, in the North West Evening Mail, on the 17th of July 2015, where it was given a different title of "We can make a difference". You can view the version published by the paper on their website here

It received a minor trim, with the bracketed description of my orange, furry, motor losing out.

And in case you were wondering, yes, of course we did go out and buy a copy off the vendor.

Whilst the new picture of me is appearing online, it hasn't made it to the print version of the column yet, with that still using the reversed, 3+ year old one of me from the Big Blogger finale. It has made it to the inside-cover of the paper though, which this week had the rather splendid note next to it you can see here.

Offbeat? Yeah... I can live with that as a description :-)

Robin news! Apart from the garden centre referred to in my recent "tweet-up" column getting in touch, I've got even more chummy with a Robin this week. Whilst up at the allotment yesterday, a cocky juvenile regularly got startlingly close to us whenever we tidied something up, hunting around where we were working for tasty insects.

Before we went, the youngster was so confident, it actually stood on my foot for a bit. I hope it doesn't try that one with the local cat population.

(CD A-Z: a-ha tonight, and the remastered and expanded version of their first album, Hunting High And Low.)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

"It's all gone quiet..." said Roobarb

If, like me, you grew up (and I’m aware of the irony in that) in the ‘70s, February was a tough month, with the sad news that Richard Briers and Bob Godfrey had died. Briers had a distinguished acting career and is, quite rightly, fondly remembered most for his character in ‘The Good Life’. Amongst his many roles, both serious and comedic, he also lent his voice to a startling bit of animation that burst it’s wobbly way on to our wooden-box-surrounded screens in 1974. The 1970s seemed to be largely hued in varying shades of beige, with hints of mustard yellow and burnt orange, and colour TV was a relatively new experience still, so the animated adventures of a daft dog and caustic cat who were the shades of dayglo green and pink normally reserved for highlighter pens, must have been a bit of a shock to the eyes at the time. It caused mine to open very wide indeed. Roobarb was written by Grange Calveley, and brought vividly into life by Godfrey, whose strange, shaky-looking sty...

Suffering from natural obsolescence

You know you’re getting old when it dawns on you that you’re outliving technological breakthroughs. You know the sort of thing – something revolutionary, that heralds a seismic shift it the way the modern world operates. Clever, time-saving, breathtaking and life-changing (and featuring a circuit board). It’s the future, baby! Until it isn’t any more. I got to pondering this when we laughed heartily in the office about someone asking if our camcorder used “tape”. Tape? Get with the times, Daddy-o! If it ain’t digital then for-get-it! I then attempted to explain to an impossibly young colleague that video tape in a camcorder was indeed once a “thing”, requiring the carrying of something the size of a briefcase around on your shoulder, containing batteries normally reserved for a bus, and a start-up time from pressing ‘Record’ so lengthy, couples were already getting divorced by the time it was ready to record them saying “I do”. After explaining what tape was, I realised I’d ...

Shouting in the social media mirror

It was always tricky to fit everything you wanted into the intentionally short character count of Twitter, especially when, like me, you tend to write ridiculously long sentences that keep going on and on, with no discernible end in sight, until you start wondering what the point was in the first place. The maximum length of a text message originally limited a tweet to 140 characters, due to it being a common way to post your ramblings in Twitter’s early days. Ten years later, we’ve largely consigned texting to the tech dustbin, and after a lot of angst, the social media platform’s bigwigs have finally opted to double your ranting capacity to 280. Responses ranged from “You’ve ruined it! Closing my account!” to the far more common “Meh” of modern disinterest. As someone rightly pointed out, just because you have twice as much capacity doesn’t mean you actually have to use it. It is, of course, and excellent opportunity to use the English language correctly and include punctuat...