People are nice

Now that sounds like a rather limp-wristed title for a blog post (and indeed one that doesn't smack of any meaty story or topic). But what the hell. I've come to the conclusion that, on the whole, when we're not trying to bomb/kill/strangle/shoot/stab each other, invade each others' countries (or indeed have altercations about boundary fences) human beings actually want to help each other. In a nice way.

My recent examples:

My neighbour helping me push my ageing and somewhat gnarly car down the hill to get it started. On a very cold morning.

The lady in a garage being incredibly helpful, after I'd accidentally filled up said car with diesel, instead of petrol. (It turns out that Tesco will get you off their forecourt - and to a nearby garage - for free. But they don't advertise this in case their forecourts are suddenly overrun with dodgy motors). Please note, this is an unrelated incident to the one above.

My Mum, and a man she kind of knows, helping me push said immobilised, full-of-diesel car out of the way of the petrol pumps.

The AA man who turned up at the Tesco garage to rescue me who a) Didn't laugh, b) Didn't take me to the nearest garage like he was supposed to, but instead took me to another garage which was c) Open on a Sunday afternoon and d) Much cheaper. Oh, and he e) Drove me to a cashpoint after remembering that they probably wouldn't take cards.

The lady who helped me push the SODDING car into a layby down the road yesterday after it wouldn't start (again). In the mud. (Unrelated to the two other car incidents above, my life is a bloody barrel of laughs, I tell you).

And all that within a mere 48 hours.

Other examples of niceness I can think of right now:

A couple of who came to my aid when I keeled over in Gatwick Airport a couple of years ago (had had a couple of crazy days working full time, plus freelance jobs on the side, plus legging back to watch my Mum get her PHD then trying to fly out to see my sister, with not much sleep and even less food along the way). I still have no idea who they were, other than one of them was a doctor, and they left me their phone number along with my passport and boarding card. And called me an ambulance.

A black cabbie in London who offered my friend Lou a free ride home on cold dark winter's night in Holloway, because he saw someone following her and wanted to make sure she'd get home all right (she didn't have any money, and he would have refused it anyway).

A now very good friend who offered me his flat when I was heartbroken and homeless a couple of years ago (after a bad breakup). I think he'd met me twice at that point. He was working abroad so his flat was empty and I badly needed somewhere to stay. He never asked for any rent either. His only reward? Well, he now gets lots of phone calls about how to build fences/fix cars/mend things I've broken. Usually a couple of times a week.

Oh, but there are many more examples. And not just in my life, but all over the place. Try this one for starters.

Take a look around you, and wallow in niceness for a change.

The world is my in-tray

So I've been toiling over a hot MacBook for a few weeks now on a project. This involves me typing away in what's now the study upstairs, with a lovely view over the churchyard.

For the most part, I write in silence. I find songs with lyrics mess with the words in my head, and so does the radio. Then it's all too easy for errant words to end up on the page, in the middle of a sentence about Ethernets or suchlike. And no good can come of that. Instrumentals and classical can be soothing, but mostly it's just silence.

Anyhow, I had to rouse myself from a transcendic copy daze yesterday and nip out to get some more toner. For some reason I looked to see where this particular cartridge had been made: Malaysia.

This triggered off an exploration of all the everyday objects within my reach. (OK, this might in part have been a copy avoidance technique, mid-way through a rather dull white paper).

But this is where they all come from:

MacBook: 'Designed in California, assembled in China'
Mouse: China
External Hard Drive: Thailand
Blank DVDs: India
Landline handset: China
Stapler: unidentified (where does it come from? WHERE?)
Blu-Tack: UK
Paperclips: UK (in fact about a mile down the road from my Mum)
Black Sharpie: USA
Yellow highlighter Sharpie: China
Black Uniball Microline pen: Japan
Yellow notebook: Cheshire, UK
Lipbalm: France
Plastic beaker: Kansas, USA

So there you have it. Or rather, there it was. Stuff from all over the world, all over my desk.

But does that make a global citizen? Or merely a glutton?

PS: Try it for yourself, it's strangely addictive.

Storms of a different kind

I headed back to London last weekend, for a now annual Thanksgiving meal, tirelessly prepared by an American friend. I hope he won't mind me talking about this on here. No names will be mentioned, and the couple of people who read this blog, who will know who I'm talking about, I know have the discretion and loyalty he deserves.

It was fun to see everyone, if a little overwhelming (hell, I'm now used to seeing an average of 3 people a week, including the postman). I brought chairs, plates and cutlery, another friend provided the flat we were eating in, another brought a selection of vegetable dishes, yet another had cooked stuffing and bought a case of champagne... you can see how this is all working.

So, the table(s) groaned under the weight of the food. I think there were 13 of us in total, a mix of old and new friends, neighbours, ex-neighbours, and ex-flatmates. The turkey met a round of applause. The chef raised a toast (and nearly made everyone cry) by thanking us for being there (surely we should have been thanking him). We sang a somewhat confused version of the Star Spangled Banner and then we feasted... We drank. We laughed. We reconnected (or at least I did). We had a spectacular afternoon and evening.

Until his girlfriend kicked off. I'm trying to explain this in terms that are not derogatory to anyone, but the whole thing now just makes me rather sad. For reasons known best to herself, she destroyed all the goodwill harboured by mostly everyone within hearing (if not striking) distance. Before being told in no uncertain terms to go home.

Now this may sound harsh, but it wasn't the first time this has happened. Last year, the very same meal, in the very same flat, followed a very similar form (although that year it was gravy that ended up all around our host's home, this year it was red wine). In fact, the kicking off has become a 'when' part of any social gathering, rather than an 'if' (neither of which should ever have to be a consideration - be it pub, party or dinner at someone's house). And none which is fair on our American friend.

The following day was filled with multiple apologetic emails and tearful phonecalls, full of self-loathing and self-hatred from the (now, ex) girlfriend. Unfortunately, it fell mostly on deaf ears as she had, so to speak, well and truly cooked her own goose. Most friends are just fed up with tolerating her behaviour. And why not? She is a major pain in the arse. Quite often.

But surely underneath this obnoxious (and it was) behaviour, lies something else? Why would someone bright, vivacious, intelligent and caring, keep destroying whatever relationships they have, which they claim matter to them more than anything else?

A couple of us (including myself) have kept communication lines open, in the hope (and with very clear requests) that she goes to see her GP. Whether she does or not is up to her. Whether she manages to salvage any of the now broken friendships is again up to her. Am I pissed off with her? Yes. Am I worried about her? Yes. Will I shrug in a couple of weeks and say 'Oh, it's OK, everyone will have forgotten by now'? No.

Let's face it, none of us is perfect. And sometimes it's not the mistakes we make that define us, but rather if (or how) we redeem ourselves that does.

But we are all responsible for our own selves, and our own behaviour.

Until then, all bets are off.