Blood and the Slight Edge

Today I gave blood for the 28th time.

(Pause for applause)

It seems more but the “carer” – for that’s what they’re called now – assured me the notes were correct. Then he went on: “And only eleven more sessions for me.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes I’m retiring.”

At this point I considered for a split second whether this was the time and the place to mention the business. I mean he was about to prick my finger and I wouldn’t want him distracted. But then I remembered that Esther Callis fell ten feet through a ceiling, landed on the edge of a bath, broke her back and then became a Marketing Director from her hospital bed. So I know what she could have done.

“Have you got your pension sorted out.” I asked him. “Will you have plenty of money?”

And then we sat there screened off from the rest of the world while I told him how he could secure his financial future.

Actually I can highly recommend the National Blood Transfusion service for providing just the right kind of prospects. Everyone’s really friendly – both the staff who all said “thank you “ for their piggy cards – and the donors themselves. I suppose it’s all that tea and biscuits which makes for such conviviality. I must have shifted 20 cards and walked out with the contact details for Tony the “carer” and the estate agent on the next bed.

The trouble was that by the time I came out it was four O’clock and I had an appointment at 4.30 (yes she joined) and I still had about 15 micro cards to shift.

Then driving home I realised I still had 15 minutes before the time I said I’d be home. So no-one would be expecting me: I could just dash into town and finish up.

I was down to my last couple of cards when I saw him walking towards me: Slightly balding, mildly harassed with a wriggling two year old in his arms.

“I see you have children,” I said. “I’m going to give you one of these. I’ve got four children and I find they’re very expensive items. Have a look. It’s brilliant.”

He stopped and looked. So I said: “If you like, I could tell you about it. It takes 30 seconds. Do you have 30 seconds?”

“Really 30 seconds? I’m meeting my wife.”

“Definitely 30 seconds.”

In fact we were still standing there five minutes later and I had discovered the following: They had moved out of London and were “downshifting”. He had given up a big income in favour of quality of life. They had just moved into their new house. They didn’t yet have a phone line and needed to sort out the broadband.

Of course I could have gone straight home instead.

But that is what they call The Slight Edge.