So, I hire a van to take my things from my old house to my new one. I pick it up and drive a bit and pull over in a service station for a sandwich. Whilst I am eating I notice another van. Some police are there; there is activity. I watch out of the corner of my eye.
They are looking at me. One man comes over. Can you help, our van has broken, we need to get to a wedding that starts in one and a half hours? I am the father of the bride, this here is her brother. They are mad with worry. My daughter will kill me, says the dad. Yes she will, says the brother. Others are milling around. They are the caterers.
Six vats of curry
The police are looking at me, it's as if they want me to help get them out of a situation. I've got all manner of stuff to load and move, I don't really want to get involved. I say yes, I will do it. Instead of heading north on the A34, with a heavy, heart to pick up my stuff, I head south, to a wedding, with an industrial quantity of curry. It's an Indian wedding. You couldn't make it up. But it is strangely happy.
Imran texts me this morning with the pics. He says: thank you, without your love this wedding would not have happened.
Every thing has a purpose. Some things just happen to cheer us up.