WHAT’S THAT ON MY GATE?

I’ve been in Bristol all day seeing estate agents etc … all on my usual meagre quota of sleep, but I’ve borne up reasonably well, as I have learned to do. Surprising how much one can function on how little sleep.

I generally choose the Quiet Zone carriage when I travel by train, but I do wish that the railway staff would enforce the quiet rule a bit more often. Both journeys were spoilt by people with their wretched mobile phones playing silly ringtones – they either didn’t know, or didn’t care that the Quiet Zone means

An announcement was made, to no effect – in the end, a woman working on her laptop leaned across and asked the main offender if she could please turn her ringtone off – it was pinging every few minutes. >:XX

Left the station and walked across the city and got to my bus stop, wishing I’d put on an extra layer today. I’d underestimated the drop in temperature. Happily, the bus timetable was all wrong so that my bus arrived far sooner than expected. I sat in a bedazed fug, hoping I wouldn’t miss my stop in the dark.

It’s always a relief when the bus turns into my road and I ring the bell for the next stop. I got off, silently thankful for a trouble-free journey.

As I approached our gate, the light from the streetlamp caught a gleam of metal swinging from the handle. I wondered if somebody had picked up a key from the street, and hung it over our gate in case the owner should come back and look for it.

I lifted it in my fingers, and saw that it was a St Christopher medal.

It could be that somebody had dropped it and it had been rescued by someone else. But somehow it seemed as if that person had put the medallion there on purpose.

So many people come to our door and not all of them with good intent. But it would be nice to think that one of them had enjoyed their cup of tea, and had left us his blessing.

I’ll probably never know.