For the first time in months, I ironed a shirt today. My boss had asked, "Can you go to the senior managers meeting for me?" and I was eager to make an impression. Meetings was the theme of this week's class at college, and comparing today's meeting to Tuesday's chaos was an object lesson. "That's my homework done," I thought as I watched the head of the unit chairing with tact, purpose, humour and knowledge.
I met Steve Rideout after work for a cup of coffee and a slice of cake. We ended up taking a tour of noteworthy buildings: to Spinningfields; down Deansgate; Urbis; the Eye; and back to the G-Mex. Steve talked about cameras. I listened. Good company. A good man.
Walking home from the tram stop, I passed three young girls, eight or nine years old. They were scratching around in the fallen leaves, building piles and kicking them. "Go on," said one of them to another. "Ask him." She jogged over, stood up as tall as she could, and smiled:
"Do you have any money. We want to raise it up to charity."
I smiled, shook my head, and walked on. Good luck to the little bleeders. Raise it up to charity? Ha!
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