Charity Today.

I went to my old city centre today and was accosted by a woman called Holly.

‘What are you trying to sell me?’ I asked.

‘Nothing. We’re just trying to raise awareness of an issue.’

‘What issue is that?’

‘Deaf children.’

OK, now I know where this is going. My suspicions were confirmed when she went into the routine which effectively amounted to: I’m a really nice person, and you’re a really nice person, and I’m sure we can be great friends, so let’s get acquainted.

‘My name’s Holly, what’s yours?’

‘Jeff.’

‘Is that short for Jeffrey?’

'Yes.'

'I must be psychic.'

‘What other forename could be abbreviated to Jeff?’ I asked. ‘I suppose there’s Jefferson, but that’s an American name. I doubt there are many people in Britain called Jefferson.’

‘Some people think I’m Russian. Or Polish.’

‘Well, your appearance does hint at the suggestion of Slavic somewhere along the line.’

‘Is that good or bad?’

‘Neither. People are whatever they are.’

By now it was becoming obvious that Holly wasn’t the brightest button in the box, and then she asked:

‘Do you live locally?’

‘No. I live near Ashbourne.’

She seemed impressed by that and asked how far away Ashbourne was.

‘About twenty three miles.’

Her mouth and eyes opened in seemingly genuine astonishment.

‘How on earth did you get here?’ she asked breathlessly.

‘Erm… in a car?’ (Why I didn't reply 'partly on foot, partly by helicopter, and the final leg by narrowboat on the canal system' I really don't know. Maybe it was because the day was dull and I felt cold.)

And so it went on. Eventually I reminded her that I wasn’t about to sign another direct debit form for a monthly subscription because there are hundreds of charities out there and I’m already a contributor. ‘They’re a side effect of the free market economy,’ I pointed out. ‘If human beings would only grow up we wouldn’t need charities.’

‘Thank you for stopping to talk to me.’

Ah, the brush off.

‘You’re welcome.’

I walked away wishing I had Dr House’s edge in such matters, but I haven’t. And I know charities are all trying to get a piece of a limited pie and the job of so doing is difficult. I just wish they’d be a little more clued up and a little more authentic in their approach. Knowing that I’m the recipient of a transparent routine doesn’t help.

So then I went and bought a cake because I felt hungry. I accidentally dropped a piece of it and the pigeons pounced, but that was OK because I like pigeons. They’re never anything but authentic. And a beggar asked me for a pound to get a drink so I gave him one. He looked authentic, too.

And when I got back I heard a loud thump on my office window. I went out to find a baby Great Tit looking wet and forlorn lying under it (it was raining heavily at the time.) I picked him up and cradled him in my hands for about ten minutes to keep him warm while I waited for him to get restive. When he began to struggle I let him go, but he wouldn’t let me go. He hung onto the sleeve of my sweater for quite a while, looking up at me as I talked gently to him and stroked his head. Eventually he flew away and I wished him well.

And that’s the story of today so far.