Stepping out of Vauxhall station the other day, I heard the wail of an approaching police car. We hear so many sirens in London these days, it’s sometimes hard to take them seriously – they’ve just become part of the background noise. But this one was coming round the blind bend into Vauxhall Cross and was clearly approaching fast, so despite the arrival of the long-awaited green man, pretty much everyone stayed on the pavement keeping well out of the way until the danger had past.
Pretty much everyone – but not all. For one of Vauxhall’s posse of down-and-out drunks was waiting on the traffic island and tottered out into the road, completely oblivious. I held my breath. He got a few feet out, realised nobody was coming with him and stopped, swaying slightly, looking confused. Then he saw the police car as it screamed out of the tunnel, bowed, waved it on with a flourish as it passed just inches from his nose, and continued tottering across the road completely unscathed. I breathed again. Sometimes I think there must be a special guardian angel reserved for drunks. Or perhaps it’s just that the gods look after their own?
Anyway, have a good weekend one and all, and if you’re planning on drinking at all, make sure you’ve got that guardian angel handy. You never know when you’re going to need him.