Glad Things #30

Great kindness, joyous mayhem and a brick.

It’s been such an eventful 72 hours that I can’t actually remember what happened before Tuesday. But it’s easy to think of my first Glad Thing (it’s terrible, but I promise it has a happy ending and very kind strangers).

1.

On Tuesday morning I walked Percy to a park in Wolverhampton I hadn’t taken him to before. I’d only been once with my boyfriend and remembered how lovely it was, the kind with iron railings all around and glasshouses — and a lake. Except on Tuesday the water was hidden under a layer of snow-covered ice, so when Percy excitedly ran after some geese he spotted in the distance, I had this feeling of helplessly watching a slow-motion disaster I couldn’t believe was unfolding, as I realised he was racing right across the frozen lake. He leapt into patch of water near an island in the middle, and I had no idea what to do, as he discovered he couldn’t get out again. (I know I was incredibly stupid letting him off the lead at all, I just didn’t think about the danger, and his recall is usually good.)

Incredibly, two young men appeared out of nowhere, like guardian angels with purple hair (one of them). They’d seen Percy fall in and had called the fire brigade before they even reached me. They went straight out onto the ice and I followed, but we could hear it cracking under our feet and had to go back. One of them went to meet the fire engine and the other waited with me as we watched Percy desperately trying to clamber out. He must have been in the water for 10 minutes before I decided to try again to reach him with a life buoy, because I couldn’t bear waiting any longer (and I can swim in cold water, and I knew the fire service were already in the park). He’d stopped splashing and was just whimpering and gazing at me, completely still. I had this silly idea that if I could throw the life buoy to the edge he might get his paws onto it and be able to pull himself out. By something as close to a miracle as I’ve known, this time as I walked out I couldn’t hear any cracking, so I just kept going and managed to grab his collar and pull him up. By the time we got back to the shore, the fire crew and two men in a truck (who turned out to be gritting the paths) were also waiting. Everyone was very kind. We wrapped Percy in coats and the lovely gritters gave us a lift back. He shivered for ages, but after a morning wrapped up in a warm blanket he was full of beans again. I will be eternally, incredibly grateful that those two young men appeared and knew to call 999. They can’t have been much older than 20, and I don’t even know their names, but I wish I could find them to thank for coming to help. The fire engine arrived really quickly too, even though it felt like forever, and they just seemed happy we were safe.

I’ve learned since that talking about something traumatic after it has happened is crucial in helping your brain to process it properly, so I’ve been doing that (quite a new skill for me) and maybe writing it will help too, even though I feel horrible guilty about the whole thing. And I’ve booked more dog training.

Snug as two bugs in two rugs, back in Lichfield.

2.

Travel with me to Glad Thing 2, which is some emotional distance to cover in 24 hours, because on Wednesday we had our third ever Indoor Serenaders gig (a belated Twelfth Night celebration), and it was even more bonkersly joyous than usual, thanks to Pete’s phenomenal turn as Master of Revels (masterminded and costumed by Ali). The whole evening was a sort of wassailing-folk-mayhem-fusion and I got to sing the Cherry Tree Carol, which is one of my favourites. I don’t have any photos yet (I’ll add some when I do, because I need to show you Pete’s hat), but in the meantime here’s a very short video, thanks to Andy.

Here they are! Thank you to John Watson © John Watson/jazzcamera.co.uk

Easily in my top ten hats of all time.

3.

Before Tuesday’s icy drama, I have a vague memory of a blissfully quiet weekend pottering about, organising things (files, cupboards, lists, post its) and getting to grips with my Brick. I heard Clover Stroud recommend it before Christmas and promptly ordered one, and if you too struggle to manage your phone-use, I think this is the best solution I’ve found. You pay for the physical Brick device but the app is free, and you can set different profiles to block different app-combinations (I currently have Focus, Goodnight and Not A Smart Phone) and once a profile is activated, you need to touch your phone against the Brick to unblock it. It’s such an effective physical barrier and means I can have my phone in my bedroom (for emergencies and for my constant need to listen to audiobooks while I sleep/in order to sleep) without finding myself scrolling Vinted at 3 o’clock in the morning. Coincidentally Peter L Bacon sent me this wonderful Oliver Burkeman piece in the Guardian, where he too mentions Brick and writes “It’s not clear what life is really for at all, if it isn’t for doing more of whatever makes you feel most alive.”

As I write this, snow is falling thick and fast on the road outside. Percy and I have a yellow blanket a-piece and every time I touch his body and it’s warm, I feel a small rush of relief.

I hope you’re all snug and safe, glad friends, wherever you are.

Kate x