I wandered down to Charing Cross yesterday and was up to my knees in water. It made me think what it must be like for those poor people in Pakistan. I went home and gave a small contribution to DEC. I notice that over on the mainland the ordinary people have given 30 million and the government has only given about the same. I hope our government in Jersey matches what our public has given, which will be about 90K if everyone gives the same as me. Not a lot to ask, even in these times of austerity.
Talking of government, I saw ex-Senator Stuart Syvret while I was wading across to the post office. He looked quite dejected in the rain, with a crumpled shirt, no wellies, and an old Checkers shopping bag covering his head to keep it dry. Unlike some people on dirty nasty blogs (whose name I will not mention here), I would never kick a man when he's down. In fact, I would never kick a man when he's up, given what happened to me the last time I tried. It was on St Catherine's breakwater and I launched out at a bloke who had taken my spot while I went for a jimmy-riddle. I slipped on some seaweed and broke my wrist and was unable to work for six weeks. It's amazing how misfortune in war can make a man a pacifist.
Anyway, I popped over to speak to Mr Syvret and we had a friendly conversation about his recent travails. I offered him any help I could give him because even though he seems to have a dodgy temperament, he was right on just about everything he said in the States, and since. I know how it goes on this island when you get on the wrong side of the authorities. Don't ask me about my planning application for my Plemont extension and my run in with Senator Le Main, because that's another story which I'll save for a later blog post.
Helping people when they are at a low point, sticking together in times of crisis - those are old-fashioned Jersey qualities. I wish they were a bit more prevalent today. There, but for the grace of God, go I (or Allah, Yahweh, Brahma - whoever tickles your fancy).
Lost cities
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*Lost cities *
Just rubble, fragments of a home
Where missiles came tearing down
The survivors left, just to roam
The shattered remnants...
5 days ago
2 comments:
Also helping tourists. It takes only a bit of time to help them when they look lost, or don't know how scratch cards work, and even giving them a scratch card free that time is such a low price to pay for giving them a memory of helpful kind locals. I offered to take a group photo for a few the other day in the Howard Davis Park, and they were very pleased. Small things can make a holiday better, and bring them back.
Tony, maybe it's just me getting dewy-eyed about the past, but I'm sure people had more time for common courtesy when I was a youngster.
I remember when my old gran used to get on the bus at First Tower and she was a bit slow on her pins, the bus driver used to put the handbrake on, get out his seat, and help her on. Nowadays, they don't even wait for you to get in your seat before they roar off down the road like Louis Hamilton on caffeine (or Red Bull, whichever is stronger). I saw an old boy thrown right to the back of the bus the other day and if I hadn't reached out and grabbed his jacket and swivelled him round into the seat, I'm convinced he would have done a swift exit by the back window. And then he gave me a mouthful of abuse for tearing his button off. Well, you can't win them all.
But you're right, people think only about their own problems but they don't realise that they would disappear if they spent time helping others instead of thinking about themselves.
I could start going in about New Age religion and navel gazing but maybe I will save that for another post. I have to go and pick my beans before the sun goes down.
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