It's good to see so many people nominated for our At Your Service award. Congratulations to all of them, whoever goes on to win. See Page 15 for how to cast your vote, by the way.
Working for the Free Press means I can't nominate anyone. But if I could, there are lots of candidates I could mention in town centre shops and businesses, who go to a lot of trouble to be extra helpful.
Take what happened to me the other Saturday m
orning, for example.
I'd popped into the office to catch up on a few bits. (Editor's note: About time) The company's car space at Borehamgate, always filled in the week, was empty, so I parked there.
When I came out later, someone had locked the barrier padlock. Fair enough. I drove up to barrier and hopped out to unlock it.
It's a fiddly thing, the padlock. Tutting to myself, I fumbled with the keys. They slipped out of my grasp … and straight down the nearby drain.
Blast! Car blocking the exit, locked in, and keys down the drain! I peered in. They were tantalizingly out of reach, nestling on some dried leaves. And the lucky Cornish piskie on the keyring definitely had a smirk on his face.
A couple of people stopped, tried to lift the drain cover, decided it was hopeless, and melted away.
I made for Streetlife bike shop nearby. In the sideway, staff member Ian Arbon was helping a cyclist unravel a brake linkage.
"I don't suppose you've got such a thing as a wire coat hanger?" I wailed. "I've dropped my keys down the drain, the grating's too heavy to lift, and they've got leaves on them." (Panic may have made me ramble a bit.)
"Hold on, I'll have a look," he said. "How far down are they?" I told him, and then prayed while he went into his miracle factory, sorry, workshop.
A few minutes went by. I thought: "That's it, he can't find one, I'm doomed. Why would they have a coat hanger in a cycle shop."
Just then, he emerged, holding a long stick of wood. Taped firmly to the end was a bicycle spoke, which had been carefully fashioned into the most splendid hook a girl with her keys down the drain could ever wish to see.
Sir Galahad carried this golden lance to the scene of the crime. A few deft tweaks later, he'd handed me back my keys.
"I'll keep this hook in case you lose them down there again," he said. What service! And I hadn't even bought so much as an inner tube in his shop.
