London

I had resolved to write about moving to London and… Well, it’s been four months now.

Truth be told, it has not been easy. But it is home now, so Ray and me just have to do our level best to make it work.

So in a show of faith, I will start on a positive note.

Some weeks ago, we took the dogs to Greenwich Park for a run. As usual, I didn’t bring my keys as Ray has his on him. About 30 minutes into the run, he stopped, and realised that he’d dropped his key!

We were distraught – the park’s massive and we had not even followed a fixed path or regular route. We didn’t know where to start retracing our steps. Needless to say, the mood suddenly took a bad turn…

We started just looking around for the key. After almost an hour, Ray said: “It’s gone. Even if somebody found it, no way they’d bother returning it. And it’s a Sunday so the Park office is closed.”

The panic set in as we dragged ourselves home in the cold – we didn’t have our phones with us, we didn’t have the landlord’s number… We were resigned to having to knock on the neighbour’s door and beg for help, call the locksmith and pay a fortune to have the lock replaced.

As we came down our street, lo and behold, the landlord – who lives in the conservatory next door – stepped out onto the street! Now bear in mind we’ve been here four months and we’ve never seen the chap on his property, and most of the time he’s away in his house in some other county.

It was a MIRACLE. I can only say that because one moment we were having a grand time in the park, next we were in the pits of depression because we’d lost the only key we had, and then this…

Anyway, so life went on. The next day, I took the dogs to the park as usual. I decided to try the Park office to see if perhaps somebody had returned it. “No, sorry,” said the clerk. “Nobody’s returned a bunch of key.”

My heart sank.

“But you can try the Police Station which is just next door,” she said.

So I brought the dogs over, leashed them up, and then stood up only to find a note that the station was closed and to call them using the free phone mounted on the wall.

“Great,” I thought. “My only hope and they are closed. No way they have it.”

And then I saw it.

Resting quietly on a red metal mailbox at the police station was Ray’s bunch of keys. I could not believe it. If I’d ignored the instinct to try; if it had rained and I had not taken the dogs out; if it had been a later little; if some cruel kid had seen it and decided to take it even though there was no way of holding which house it opened…

Well, I had my second miracle.

Some kind soul DID take the trouble to return the key. Somebody figured the cold and panicked owner would try the Police Station.

So, to the kind soul who returned a bunch of keys with a small leather strap, thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.

It was a wonderful thing you did. You know who you are.

Whenever I have to deal with the Greenwich Council about yet another inane thing or missed collection, I try to think back to the good things like this little miracle so as to keep my sanity intact.

So there, my first London entry. Should be more consistent from here.