That’s The Beaker People (artist's impression).
As previously mentioned, I have spent a fair bit of time travelling in the past week, a pastime which can often lead to quite large intakes of breath. One was occasioned by the group of youths (“yoots”) on the 16.23 out of Birmingham International who had to use the word “fucking” in every single sentence they uttered, loudly. Oblivious to my Paddington Bear stare, the courtesy to stop using such language in such a public place did not occur to them until I pointed it out. The next was caused by the Caffé Ritazza manageress who thought it acceptable to use skimmed milk to make my Latte without telling me (increases her margins, I presume, but I do not like skinny drinks) and then refused me a refund. And so it goes on. Everybody on trains who whacks their i-Players on full so that you can hear the tinny treble sounds of each track they’re listening to. The fact that whilst staying at a large hotel for a training event the receptionist does nothing except the bare mechanics of checking you in on the computer and checking you out (without even a smile, "welcome" or "goodbye"), whilst at the lunches and coffee breaks only that strange milk-substitute in little plastic containers is on offer. Oops, giving away how seriously I take my milk here. The man I watched scarf a Pret-a-Manger sandwich and then throw the wrapper and crusts on the ground at Liverpool Street Station. Everyone who stands right outside the door of the arriving train you are getting off of, and then refuses to stand aside as you negotiate your way out carrying a case. I could go on, but even I’m getting bored.
However, every so often there is a Beacon Person, someone who shines a little light into the dulled world of the public spaces that are misused by many. Although in people’s defence, I should say the architects and designers, who make many of these spaces so very ugly it is unsurprising few feel any obligation to behave in a civilised manner within them, ought shoulder much of the blame. Beacon People, however, rise above the mediocrity and squalor around them and are nice.
So I take my hat off to the Network South East guard who showed infinite patience and understanding to the two Sikh fare-chancers (probably fare-dodgers, but they did have a ticket valid from Ilford, problem being they jumped on 7 stops earlier). He was delightful, had a true Romfordian accent with the exact cadences of one of my brothers (the only one who has lived in Romford all his life) and whilst carefully extracting the £20 fine from both of them did so in such a genteel manner, using such beautiful language, I almost wanted to pretend to have no ticket myself. He was a gentleman.
Next, the young man at Birmingham New Street. I was at the top of a set of steps that led to a subterranean platform, had just put my case down to steel myself for hefting it down the said steps and … he offered to carry it for me. It was not a small case, or a light one. I warned him, but he cheerfully picked it up, managed to disguise the surprise on his face, and took it down to the platform for me. That simple act of kindness from a complete stranger made me smile all the way to Carlisle.
And outwith the above transport parameters, I had occasion whilst in Essex to engage someone in professional services that come in at a standard £750. At the end of the required consultation, which was professional, unhurried and caring, I got out my chequebook to pay. The fee was refused. How decent is that?
Finally, a Beacon Person has left us, so do visit TFE here: http://totalfeckineejit.blogspot.com/2009/11/some-sad-news.html
to read one of Joan O'Flynn's Poetry Bus contributions, and for a link to her own blog where there is a message from her family about her death.
Note to self: shine a light.
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