Collecting for Marie Curie Cancer Care

With the blessings of the Big Issue seller, I positioned myself where I could catch people coming from the University, Civic Centre and Haymarket bus and metro stations. By lucky coincidence I was right next to a bank of cash-points and three banks/building societies, so people had their purses and wallets handy.

Even though I got freezing cold on Thursday (Wednesday was sunny) I had a really nice time which restored my faith in humanity. People of all ages, colours, sizes and classes found their way to me. Most donated a pound, or two, whilst others simply emptied the copper and small change from their purse or pocket. When asked what the daffodils cost I simply replied "Whatever you'd like to give." A special mention has to go to the manager of Lloyds TSB who came out with a £20 note and bought a daffodil for each of her staff. Shortly followed by someone from the Halifax who bought 10.

I learnt that Marie Curie is a much loved and appreciated organisation. So many people mentioned loved ones they had cared for. They were easy to spot by the way they all looked me in the eye and said "No - thank you", when I thanked them for their donation. Very humbling as all I was doing was standing on a street corner for a few hours: worth it just for the interesting encounters.

One young man said "It's a bit ironic me putting out a fag and then putting money in a cancer charity tin. I should know better - I'm a nurse."
"Well, look on it as an investment for the future" I said reassuringly, and he went away chuckling.

There was the toddler and his mum who sat on the bench outside Lloyds having a picnic lunch. He came over with a pound and took a daffodil which his mum pinned on for him. Then he insisted on coming back with his latest treasure: a gingerbread man. We had a brief chat about the gingerbread man and I wondered whether he might run away. The little boy looked solemnly at me and said "No, not while he's wrapped in this plastic bag". Made sense to me.

Not a few ladies commented on how bright and cheerful I looked and on Thursday one came over and said "I saw you here yesterday, anyone who can wear that hat two days running deserves supporting" and made a donation.

One lady came over, folded up a £10 and tried to push it in the tin.
"Oh" she said "your slot's too tight"
I was very tempted but restrained myself from making any comment..
She must have sensed it because she said "Oh that does sound rude".
Whereupon we both burst out laughing.

After three hours I took my tin, tray, tabard and top hat back to base, had a cup of coffee and headed for the metro. As I walked into Blackett Street the busker at the Monument broke into the opening chords of Dueling Banjos.

Amongst other things my late husband Phil played the banjo, and got heartily sick of drunks coming up to him at pub gigs slurring "D'ya plaay jewellin' banjows?". (He would reply along the lines of "No, there's only one of me, go away.") But the busker at the Monument was using the riffs from Dueling Banjos as a chorus to other guitar pieces. He was very good. So I got the shrapnel from my purse, tossed it in his case and was rewarded with a beaming smile.

A good end to a good morning.