I never thought my life would be interesting enough to write a blog about, but as soon as I even consider it, I casually get roped into a missing person’s incident...
So, it was a standard evening at work in a traditional pub, in a sleepy, idyllic, English village: understaffed, rude customers ... almost enough to overlook the mangy looking gentleman in the corner, putting customers off their food with his persistent coughing.
I have to say I did feel a bit sorry for him, he had to be someone's relative, a father, maybe a grandfather ... he'd clearly just lost his way a bit.
He soon went on his way and I thought nothing of it until the following morning when the police phoned about a missing elderly man who was last known to have been at the pub. I shamefully couldn't place him until, a wave of guilt swept over me, as I remembered the lonely little old man in the corner, who didn't kick up a fuss, demand my time, or look down on me like the fifty other diners that evening. I'd completely ignored the man who probably only came in for company, and I might have been the last person to see him alive...
My life is not that dramatic though, and I was pleased to hear the man was safe and well this morning, reunited with his family. It did make me re-evaluate who I give my time to however, so if Tony happens to come into the pub again, I will definitely be buying him a drink and taking a moment to talk to him about his week, his day, his life.
