Reason To Be Cheerful

Walking down Ockendon Road, a quiet residential street in North London yesterday, I passed a plastic traffic island bollard in the middle of the road. And stopped. Balanced upon it was a book. A hardback, red book. Outsize, with gold embossed lettering down the spine.

The street was deserted, and so I crossed over and had a look. It was a brand new copy of ‘The Dangerous Book For Boys’. Unopened, the spine not even cracked. I was so impressed, I took a photograph of it on my phone;

I’ve been thinking since about this quite a bit. And it’s all good thoughts. The most likely explanation of how the book got there is that someone had found it lying in the street, and, assuming someone had lost it, placed it somewhere highly visible in the assumption that it’s rightful owner would trace their steps in the hope of finding it.

This simple act of kindness, a small attempt to help out a stranger, gave - and continues to give me - a warm glow. Just when you get worn down by the incessant screwfaces, the refusal to give up seats on the tube to pregnant women, the general abrasiveness of life in London, you witness something which reminds you there are people who are trying to be pleasant as well.

Either that, or it was a situationist art prank/book review. It was near Dalston, after all.