ME IN A NUTSHELL
- G’day, I’m Michael and I have two fantastic grown-up kids. I’m a jeans and singlet/T-shirt, cowboy boot, tattoos sort of fella, who knows a bit about this and sometimes a lot about that. I'll have a crack at most things, although having a relationship? ... well that ship has sailed. I'm past my use-by date anyway, so I'm gonna make it all about me and surviving life as I know it ... or make it.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
... and the policeman was surprised ...
It has been a while since I’ve put pen to paper, as it were. I reckon the weight of numbers has conspired against it. And there have been plenty … numbers that is. Lots of words to work with at the two jobs, lots of great meals, great wines, great beers … yeah, just lots of stuff (hangovers performed well in the numbers since I last hit this site). Reckon I had a hangover big enough to photograph recently when I wandered to the market to get some food to soak up the excesses of the night before. I parked behind our office and trundled down the lane to the market. There was a purse, bulging with plastic cards, on the ground. I did the honourable thing and stuck it in my calico shopping bag and did the food thing. I stopped at the cop shop on the way home and handed the purse to a young uniformed bloke. “Dunno what’s in it. It’s nothing to do with me,” I said. He looked surprised. “Anyway, it may be something embarrassing to the owner.” He opened it and discovered nothing more embarrassing than some cash and a bundle of plastic cards, including a driver’s licence. I had to fill in a form. He said to me: “If it’s not claimed, you’ll hear from us and get the contents.” “Nah, donate it to the policeman’s benevolent fund. It’s not mine.” He looked surprised and asked whether it would be OK to let the owner know who I was and where I lived. “Yep, that’s not a problem.” It turned out that it was someone who lives about 150 metres from me. The young copper thanked me for my honesty. Not so, the owner. I don’t reckon it would have been too much trouble for the owner to maybe drop a note in my letterbox to say thanks, but that never happened. Shame that. Mind you, I felt good about doing the right thing.