PEACE ARTISTRY

Some months ago, I was hurrying to the high street to make some urgent purchases when I was accosted by a waif in a state of great peturbation. He proceeded to recount to me a tragic tale of how his lorry had been hijacked by armed ruffians while making a delivery to a nearby factory.

"Why, that's abomnable, my man!" I cried, "We must summon the beadle forthwith!"
As I strode out towards the Police Station, a shabby building that periodically bursts into flames as incarcerated delinquents make incendiary protests as to their innocence, I became aware of the poor fellow trotting along beside me, gibbering excitedly.
"I've already informed the Police," he snapped, "and they're useless. It isn't worth even going there again."
"Well, what are we to do then?" I enquired.
"I need to get a bus to Campinas," he said, a city that lies a good two hours away by road. "Do you happen to have any money to help me buy a ticket?"
"Of course!" I cried thrusting a crisp note into his grimy paw.
"God bless you!" he called over his shoulder as he crossed the bridge, going in the opposite direction to where the buses passed, trying not to break into a run. A light feeling consumed my chest in the knowledge that I had, however insignificantly, helped a stranger in need.

Imagine my surprise when I saw the very same individual struggling to find the pavement as he emerged from a bar yesterday as I exercised my hound, his level of intoxication being such that he didn't acknowledge me as the good samaritan that helped him all those months ago. Indeed, I doubt he would have acknowledged his own mother, unless she was behind a bar doling out the pinga.

But it gives me some measure of satisfaction that, clearly moved by my humble act of selflessness, this gent decided to leave the city of Campinas and come and live among us - kindly folk always willing to help a stranger who has entered straits that may be described as dire.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the southern hemisphere's equivalent of Cranford.