As I hurtled my way in to work, last week, somewhat flustered from the usual morning slog, I drew up to the new traffic lights (on red, of course) at the foot of the hill in to Preston. As I stopped I noticed a man looking to hitch a ride in to the city. In a flash of a moment I gave him the green light to get in. Without a moment to spare for greetings the traffic lights changed and we were off on our way, up the hill.
I have given rides to men before. Only in daylight, you understand. Giving lifts to hitchers became acceptable whilst I travelled alone, back-packing around the world. More specifically, it was my 3 month bout in New Zealand that really began to dissolve my entirely British resolve never to be truly helpful.
So now, if the sun is shining I help out. I give lifts to strangers waiting on the side of the road. So how does it go? Well, it goes well. You meet and chat, partake in a touch of small talk, smile, and then say your goodbyes.
The man I dropped off in Preston last week only needed a short ride. He was a lovely bloke. I learnt he was from South Shields, had babies in Belgium, and received care from Theo Walcott's mother Lynne. I learnt he believed in home-birth and breastfeeding. Oh, and as he left the car, and handed me a pen I learnt he transported Mercedes Benz around the country.
His parting words: "here you go, Pet. Perhaps one day you'll be driving one of these"
So to the Mercedes-driving man. Thanks for the company. The information. The chatter. If you ever happen to read this. It'd be great to know your name.
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