I'm going to Heaven with Baby Jebus.
My walk into the library was full of action-packed incident this morning.
Walking across the piece of parkland in Crewe known as Brookland I spotted a can of beer. Actually I think I spotted it on Saturday but for some reason it had not been claimed despite the fact that it appeared to be unopened. The local tramps aren't particularly known for their discernment when it comes to free alcohol but as they usually congregate in a part of town at least half a mile away it's fair to assume they hadn't yet smelt the freebie. I picked it up, it was in perfect condition and only a trifle muddy. Unfortunately it was a can of Fosters and I am rather more discerning than the tramps. Fosters, to the layman, is about as unpalatable that a beer can possibly be. You can't even cook with it. However, I'm in no position to complain as I am suffering my own credit crunch at the moment. I bagged it.
I got to thinking about the madwoman who recently claimed she'd lived for a quid a day (after pre-paying her rent, council tax etc that would have taken her daily expenses most probably well over £20). She had also collected £117 from walking around with her nose on the ground and picking up dropped money. Being rather cash strapped, I am wont to do this myself but in the last two months I have found precisely this: zero. Then - what's that in the middle of the path? A purse. I walked on by, too embarrassed to pick it up as there were two people coming the other way and I didn't want to look too desperate. Both of them kicked it but neither stopped. I stopped though, turned round, walked back and picked it up. I opened it and there was just over £30 and a bus ticket inside. Oh, shit. A dilemma. I had recently told Sharon that I am so damned broke at the moment that I doubt I would be able to hand in a wallet packed with money if I were fortuitous enough to find one. As nobody ever really finds such a thing in real life, I thought I would be relatively safe with that. Bugger. What to do?
I thought about who had dropped it. Maybe that person was as strapped as me and had just got out the last of their money to buy gas or electricity. Damn, this was getting hard. I looked at the bus ticket. A child's one. Oh no. They've saved up to get a birthday present for their mother. The kid's going to be heartbroken. Much as I needed to, I couldn't. I walked to the police station and handed it in. 28 days and it's mine if unclaimed. Scant consolation I know, but at least I didn't tell them about the beer.
Walking across the piece of parkland in Crewe known as Brookland I spotted a can of beer. Actually I think I spotted it on Saturday but for some reason it had not been claimed despite the fact that it appeared to be unopened. The local tramps aren't particularly known for their discernment when it comes to free alcohol but as they usually congregate in a part of town at least half a mile away it's fair to assume they hadn't yet smelt the freebie. I picked it up, it was in perfect condition and only a trifle muddy. Unfortunately it was a can of Fosters and I am rather more discerning than the tramps. Fosters, to the layman, is about as unpalatable that a beer can possibly be. You can't even cook with it. However, I'm in no position to complain as I am suffering my own credit crunch at the moment. I bagged it.
I got to thinking about the madwoman who recently claimed she'd lived for a quid a day (after pre-paying her rent, council tax etc that would have taken her daily expenses most probably well over £20). She had also collected £117 from walking around with her nose on the ground and picking up dropped money. Being rather cash strapped, I am wont to do this myself but in the last two months I have found precisely this: zero. Then - what's that in the middle of the path? A purse. I walked on by, too embarrassed to pick it up as there were two people coming the other way and I didn't want to look too desperate. Both of them kicked it but neither stopped. I stopped though, turned round, walked back and picked it up. I opened it and there was just over £30 and a bus ticket inside. Oh, shit. A dilemma. I had recently told Sharon that I am so damned broke at the moment that I doubt I would be able to hand in a wallet packed with money if I were fortuitous enough to find one. As nobody ever really finds such a thing in real life, I thought I would be relatively safe with that. Bugger. What to do?
I thought about who had dropped it. Maybe that person was as strapped as me and had just got out the last of their money to buy gas or electricity. Damn, this was getting hard. I looked at the bus ticket. A child's one. Oh no. They've saved up to get a birthday present for their mother. The kid's going to be heartbroken. Much as I needed to, I couldn't. I walked to the police station and handed it in. 28 days and it's mine if unclaimed. Scant consolation I know, but at least I didn't tell them about the beer.
Coda:
I fear I have already received my reward for my good citizenship. On the way back across Brookland after posting this from the library, I spotted yet another Fosters can lying in the grass, again untouched by tramp lips. To whomsoever controls the particular fates governing my life at the moment, a sense of humour - you haz it. I am probably the only person in Crewe, apart from the one who discarded the trophies, who doesn't drink tasteless chemical lager. What will happen to me if I drink it?
posted by Richard at 10:46 am
8 Vegetable peelings:
Well, you know you did the Right Thing. Except for picking up the cans of demon drink. Could you use them for polishing the brasswork in your local church?
I can think of somebody who'd fight your for the Fosters but best not to give it to him.
No doubt the purse was a dilemma but it's at times like that that a person's true colours shine through and yours clear shone bright :)
Richard, I have recommended you for canonisation, and amazingly, you have been added to the waiting list.
Well done Richard.
However, with your extensive Crewe readership, there's going to be someone now hot footing down to the station to claim that purse.
Tom: I gather that for beatification one has to be each of two things: a Christian and dead. I find myself currently wanting on at least one of those counts. There is possibly still time for me to see the light.
Murph: Sshh...
My respect for Crewe increases. Citizens that throw away cans of Fosters have style.
A great deal more style than the ones who pick it up. I have so far managed to resist the urge to drink it.
Fosters isn't to bad for fish batter. If you drink it, you'll belch.
A lot.
And feel a bit sick.
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