Take your morals for a test drive with these tricky scenarios, specially devised by Agony Aunt, Granny D. Will you be cruising in the fast lane to divine deliverance, or will you be pit-stopping your way to self-doubt and a guilty conscience? Hop in the driving seat, buckle up and engage your truth gear. You're about to find out what you're really made of.
Here's the list (blue titles are for males, red for females, and green for either). They're all in order, so just keep scrolling down until you reach your choice...
Drowning Child, Cash Granny, Root of the Problem, Two Ladies, Ghost of a Chance, Engaging Thought, Rabbit Stew, Rock Bottom, Buried Treasure, Crimewatch, Happy Families, One Night Rider, Barrow Boy, One Direction, Poor Little Annie, Fishy Chips,
Cold Turkey, Close encounters of the wife kind, Pulling Strings, Canine Terrorist, Black Christmas, Diamonds are Forever,
Second Chances, Where there’s muck..., Aunt Eek!
Here's the list (blue titles are for males, red for females, and green for either). They're all in order, so just keep scrolling down until you reach your choice...
Drowning Child, Cash Granny, Root of the Problem, Two Ladies, Ghost of a Chance, Engaging Thought, Rabbit Stew, Rock Bottom, Buried Treasure, Crimewatch, Happy Families, One Night Rider, Barrow Boy, One Direction, Poor Little Annie, Fishy Chips,
Cold Turkey, Close encounters of the wife kind, Pulling Strings, Canine Terrorist, Black Christmas, Diamonds are Forever,
Second Chances, Where there’s muck..., Aunt Eek!
Drowning Child
It's a particularly rough day at the seaside with huge foaming waves slapping against the promenade walls, and you are pushing your three-year-old daughter in a buggy along the promenade, at a safe distance from the railings, of course. Your six-year-old son, Thomas, is holding onto the side of the buggy. In a moment of what can only be described as ‘sheer madness’, Thomas breaks free and runs towards the railings. Although you shout for him to stop, he falls in and the inevitable outcome is suddenly staring you slap-bang in the face.
With no one around to help, you look along the promenade for life rings, but you can't see any; not that it would do much good, landing one next to a six-year-old child and expecting him to grasp it in those extreme conditions are remote to say the least. So you put the brake on the buggy and run to the railings. Not being an Olympic swimmer yourself, you can be reasonably sure that jumping in would result in two bodies being dragged out of the sea instead of one. You are at the point where even Saint Jude would be starting the car. You look down and you can see Thomas disappearing, and then momentarily reappearing, just long enough for you to witness the fear in his terrified eyes and to hear his faint screams as he clings to the last seconds of his doomed existence. Although you are unable to hear anything but the faint screams, you can see his lips forming the word, ‘Dad!’ or ‘Mum!’, whichever is the case.
So what do you do now? Watch him die and live with a feeling of guilt for the rest of your life? After all, he was in your care when it happened. Or do you jump in knowing that it will be the last thing you ever do? Not only that but, if you do decide to jump in, you’ll be leaving a three-year-old child in a pushchair crying on the promenade. With you out of the picture, what's to say she's not going to wriggle free and toddle over? You're never going to save little Thomas, that's not in doubt, but can you live with the image that has now burned itself into the album of your memory? What are you waiting for... hoping Thomas will disappear beneath the waves and the decision will be made for you?
It's a particularly rough day at the seaside with huge foaming waves slapping against the promenade walls, and you are pushing your three-year-old daughter in a buggy along the promenade, at a safe distance from the railings, of course. Your six-year-old son, Thomas, is holding onto the side of the buggy. In a moment of what can only be described as ‘sheer madness’, Thomas breaks free and runs towards the railings. Although you shout for him to stop, he falls in and the inevitable outcome is suddenly staring you slap-bang in the face.
With no one around to help, you look along the promenade for life rings, but you can't see any; not that it would do much good, landing one next to a six-year-old child and expecting him to grasp it in those extreme conditions are remote to say the least. So you put the brake on the buggy and run to the railings. Not being an Olympic swimmer yourself, you can be reasonably sure that jumping in would result in two bodies being dragged out of the sea instead of one. You are at the point where even Saint Jude would be starting the car. You look down and you can see Thomas disappearing, and then momentarily reappearing, just long enough for you to witness the fear in his terrified eyes and to hear his faint screams as he clings to the last seconds of his doomed existence. Although you are unable to hear anything but the faint screams, you can see his lips forming the word, ‘Dad!’ or ‘Mum!’, whichever is the case.
So what do you do now? Watch him die and live with a feeling of guilt for the rest of your life? After all, he was in your care when it happened. Or do you jump in knowing that it will be the last thing you ever do? Not only that but, if you do decide to jump in, you’ll be leaving a three-year-old child in a pushchair crying on the promenade. With you out of the picture, what's to say she's not going to wriggle free and toddle over? You're never going to save little Thomas, that's not in doubt, but can you live with the image that has now burned itself into the album of your memory? What are you waiting for... hoping Thomas will disappear beneath the waves and the decision will be made for you?
Cash Granny
You're walking along a country lane when, about one hundred yards further along the lane, you see an old woman stumble and fall. By the time you reach her, it's plainly obvious she is no longer for this world. No matter how good the Paramedics are, a Mortician would be more appropriate. So, you take out your mobile and phone the emergency services.
However, whilst you’re stood around waiting, about a yard or so from the old lady, you notice a roll of money held together with an elastic band, just lying there in the ditch. You can't be sure, but there must be at least £500, if not a grand in that cash roll. You glance at the old lady's handbag, which is still on her arm. The top is slightly open from when she hit the deck, but there doesn't appear to be any of the other contents on the ground.
Of course, it could be that she fell there and the cash has nothing to do with the old lady, other than coincidence. But then the odds of that happening along a quiet country road are pretty slim; slim but not impossible. The top note looks quite dirty, which could suggest the roll had been there for some time. On the other hand, it doesn't look wet, which could also suggest that it hasn't been there for as long as one might first think, or it would surely show signs of dampness from the morning dew. Then one must consider what the likelihood of an old lady carrying such a large wad of notes would be?
So what do you do? Times are hard and that roll of banknotes would, no doubt, pay for a nice little holiday abroad, or maybe the repair to the boiler that's been on hold for the past three months. You've got birthdays coming up too that you haven't managed to budget for; and, in any case, if it had have belonged to the old lady, and that's far from being certain, she won't be needing it any time soon. I suppose the only thing left to consider is, if it did belong to the old lady and someone else knew about her having it for whatever reason, they could tell the Police and then it would look like you stole it from a dead granny; not good. Even then, it would surely be impossible to prove. So what ARE you going to do?
You're walking along a country lane when, about one hundred yards further along the lane, you see an old woman stumble and fall. By the time you reach her, it's plainly obvious she is no longer for this world. No matter how good the Paramedics are, a Mortician would be more appropriate. So, you take out your mobile and phone the emergency services.
However, whilst you’re stood around waiting, about a yard or so from the old lady, you notice a roll of money held together with an elastic band, just lying there in the ditch. You can't be sure, but there must be at least £500, if not a grand in that cash roll. You glance at the old lady's handbag, which is still on her arm. The top is slightly open from when she hit the deck, but there doesn't appear to be any of the other contents on the ground.
Of course, it could be that she fell there and the cash has nothing to do with the old lady, other than coincidence. But then the odds of that happening along a quiet country road are pretty slim; slim but not impossible. The top note looks quite dirty, which could suggest the roll had been there for some time. On the other hand, it doesn't look wet, which could also suggest that it hasn't been there for as long as one might first think, or it would surely show signs of dampness from the morning dew. Then one must consider what the likelihood of an old lady carrying such a large wad of notes would be?
So what do you do? Times are hard and that roll of banknotes would, no doubt, pay for a nice little holiday abroad, or maybe the repair to the boiler that's been on hold for the past three months. You've got birthdays coming up too that you haven't managed to budget for; and, in any case, if it had have belonged to the old lady, and that's far from being certain, she won't be needing it any time soon. I suppose the only thing left to consider is, if it did belong to the old lady and someone else knew about her having it for whatever reason, they could tell the Police and then it would look like you stole it from a dead granny; not good. Even then, it would surely be impossible to prove. So what ARE you going to do?
Root of the Problem
There you are, enjoying a holiday by the sea at a caravan park, and you're walking along the cliff edge early one morning when you come across a small dog looking rather agitated. You notice it's still got its lead on and yet you can't see its owner anywhere. Then you hear a faint cry for help. So, crawling on your stomach, you peer over the edge of the cliff, where you see a man holding onto a tree root above a sheer drop to the violent waves crashing against the rocks below. If he falls, it's goodnight, Vienna. You immediately reach for your phone and are about to dial for the Coastguard when you take a closer look at the man's face. "Please, help me!" he cries, "I can't hold on for much longer. Don't let me die."
Now, he doesn't recognise you, but you most certainly recognise him. Do you remember five years ago when your sweet little daughter was hit by a drunk driver and you had to identify her crushed little body? Of course you do, just as you recall the hit-and-run driver that got sentenced to two years in prison and a three year driving ban, despite the fact that he was a re-offender. Yes, he looked full of remorse standing in that dock, wiping the crocodile tears from his eyes and shaking his head for the benefit of the jury. Mind you, he wasn't quite so convincing when he smirked at his Barrister after the sentence was handed down; and what did he serve? Fourteen months and eight days. That's the price that was put on your daughter's life. Fourteen months and eight days! That's less than a month for each year she was on this Earth. He's back driving again now, though not at this precise moment, because there he is, hanging from the root of a tree, his life in the balance.
So what now? Do you spare his life by calling the Coastguard, or do you leave him to die, just as he did your sweet, defenceless daughter five years back? If you go with the thumbs down, do you make sure he knows who you are and why you're condemning him to death? It might be worth it just to see the look on his once smug face. He's not smirking now, is he? You could, of course, just walk away and leave Newton's theory or gravity to do its work, but then you've also got to decide whether to toss the dog over the edge for insurance purposes. Let's face it, if you walk away, the dog might attract attention and he could still be saved. What's more, if you do decide to let him know who you are and he does end up getting saved, it might be you who's facing criminal charges. It's time to make your mind up.
There you are, enjoying a holiday by the sea at a caravan park, and you're walking along the cliff edge early one morning when you come across a small dog looking rather agitated. You notice it's still got its lead on and yet you can't see its owner anywhere. Then you hear a faint cry for help. So, crawling on your stomach, you peer over the edge of the cliff, where you see a man holding onto a tree root above a sheer drop to the violent waves crashing against the rocks below. If he falls, it's goodnight, Vienna. You immediately reach for your phone and are about to dial for the Coastguard when you take a closer look at the man's face. "Please, help me!" he cries, "I can't hold on for much longer. Don't let me die."
Now, he doesn't recognise you, but you most certainly recognise him. Do you remember five years ago when your sweet little daughter was hit by a drunk driver and you had to identify her crushed little body? Of course you do, just as you recall the hit-and-run driver that got sentenced to two years in prison and a three year driving ban, despite the fact that he was a re-offender. Yes, he looked full of remorse standing in that dock, wiping the crocodile tears from his eyes and shaking his head for the benefit of the jury. Mind you, he wasn't quite so convincing when he smirked at his Barrister after the sentence was handed down; and what did he serve? Fourteen months and eight days. That's the price that was put on your daughter's life. Fourteen months and eight days! That's less than a month for each year she was on this Earth. He's back driving again now, though not at this precise moment, because there he is, hanging from the root of a tree, his life in the balance.
So what now? Do you spare his life by calling the Coastguard, or do you leave him to die, just as he did your sweet, defenceless daughter five years back? If you go with the thumbs down, do you make sure he knows who you are and why you're condemning him to death? It might be worth it just to see the look on his once smug face. He's not smirking now, is he? You could, of course, just walk away and leave Newton's theory or gravity to do its work, but then you've also got to decide whether to toss the dog over the edge for insurance purposes. Let's face it, if you walk away, the dog might attract attention and he could still be saved. What's more, if you do decide to let him know who you are and he does end up getting saved, it might be you who's facing criminal charges. It's time to make your mind up.
Two Ladies
You meet two girls on a night out and you get chatting. The first girl, let's call her Kate, is hot, hot, hot! She gives you a semi just watching her hold the alcopops bottle to her lips. Whereas girl number two, Jane, is nice, but definitely one step down on the podium.
As the conversation progresses, it's plainly obvious that Jane fancies the pants off you; the girl is all over you like a rash, giggling at your crap jokes, hanging on your every word, stretching her top, making sure you can see what's in the shop window, the whole job lot. Kate, on the other hand, although quite friendly, isn't as receptive as Jane, she's sort of luke warm at best. If there are any 'signals', she disguises them well.
So here's the dilemma; do you take on the Kate challenge, knowing that you could lose both women and end up pumping your fist? Do you try a little longer with Kate, whilst throwing Miss 8-out-of-10 a few crumbs for back-up in the hope that she's too infatuated with you to notice? Or do you cut your losses and settle for plain Jane; a bird in the hand, and all that?
You meet two girls on a night out and you get chatting. The first girl, let's call her Kate, is hot, hot, hot! She gives you a semi just watching her hold the alcopops bottle to her lips. Whereas girl number two, Jane, is nice, but definitely one step down on the podium.
As the conversation progresses, it's plainly obvious that Jane fancies the pants off you; the girl is all over you like a rash, giggling at your crap jokes, hanging on your every word, stretching her top, making sure you can see what's in the shop window, the whole job lot. Kate, on the other hand, although quite friendly, isn't as receptive as Jane, she's sort of luke warm at best. If there are any 'signals', she disguises them well.
So here's the dilemma; do you take on the Kate challenge, knowing that you could lose both women and end up pumping your fist? Do you try a little longer with Kate, whilst throwing Miss 8-out-of-10 a few crumbs for back-up in the hope that she's too infatuated with you to notice? Or do you cut your losses and settle for plain Jane; a bird in the hand, and all that?
Ghost of a Chance
Two years ago, you moved into your new dream house; six months later, and you’re packing your bags and going to live with friends. It's not that you particularly believe in ghosts, or at least not until you moved into that Godforsaken place. It started off with the odd noise here and there; then sudden changes in temperature accompanied by a strange smell; and then there were the brief glimpses of transient shadows moving along the hallway. Of course, you always had an explanation. It was either the water expanding in the heating pipes, drainage problems, or the sun crossing that little window on the landing. But it got worse, didn't it? Much worse! Furniture moving on its own accord; those noises became clearer; you could often make out a child's voice whispering at you through the day and crying in the night. It all came to a head when you were stood in the kitchen and you could sense someone was in there with you. Cupboard doors began to open and slam shut; the water in the pan on the stove began to boil, even though there was no burner on; plates were being hurled across the kitchen, smashing against the wall; and that pale looking child holding the teddy bear, always stood outside that room, always weeping.
As I say, that was twelve months ago. Since then, you've been living rent free with your best friend and the guy that is soon to become her husband. She is pregnant and it's quite obvious from the hushed arguments you keep hearing that they want to be playing happy families; not only that but the room you're sleeping in is the perfect size for a nursery. All the signs are there, it's just a matter of time before they ask you to leave.
The bad news is that you can't afford to pay the mortgage on that house and rent a place at the same time. You've had no luck with the Estate Agents, despite the price of your house being dropped twice, and you're struggling to make ends meet.
Then, out of the blue, the Estate Agent rings; an offer has been made for your property, and it's only two grand short of the asking price. Apparently, the prospective purchasers have the money available, so there are no mortgage applications to hold things up and they're not in a chain... happy days!
Then you find out the offer has come from an elderly couple looking for somewhere to retire. After viewing the house, the couple, married for nigh on fifty years and now both in their seventies, fell in love with the property. John had been a self-employed Carpenter most of his life and his wife, Mary, had been a Midwife, before ill-health had forced her into early retirement. They have no children as, although they always wanted them, two miscarriages were more than poor Mary could bear. When John was diagnosed with cancer, which is now thankfully in remission, they decided to spend the rest of their days together in the country.
So your dilemma is, do you tell them about the paranormal activity and jeopardise the sale of the house? After all, the Property Misdescriptions Act 1991 does not refer to haunted houses, though it does create a general duty to avoid making false or misleading statements. As you haven't actually made any statement s regarding a haunting, then you're not misleading anyone... are you?
The general position is governed by the legal principle of 'caveat emptor' or 'buyer beware' i.e. it's up to a buyer to make a full inspection of the property for defects and make full enquiries of the seller before proceeding with the purchase. So, if they don't ask, you have no obligation to present the information, right? And in any case, they've already had a viewing and obviously nothing happened, so maybe whatever it was, moved out when you did.
On the other hand, they haven't had an easy life. They seem such a lovely couple and an experience like the one you encountered could, and probably would, be one trauma too many. Let’s face it, had they have been a couple of smarmy city-slickers looking for a country retreat, would you be even considering playing the role of Honest Joe? Maybe if you came clean with John and Mary, they might still want to buy the house; or is that just you being naive? Can you afford to take the risk; that is the question?
Two years ago, you moved into your new dream house; six months later, and you’re packing your bags and going to live with friends. It's not that you particularly believe in ghosts, or at least not until you moved into that Godforsaken place. It started off with the odd noise here and there; then sudden changes in temperature accompanied by a strange smell; and then there were the brief glimpses of transient shadows moving along the hallway. Of course, you always had an explanation. It was either the water expanding in the heating pipes, drainage problems, or the sun crossing that little window on the landing. But it got worse, didn't it? Much worse! Furniture moving on its own accord; those noises became clearer; you could often make out a child's voice whispering at you through the day and crying in the night. It all came to a head when you were stood in the kitchen and you could sense someone was in there with you. Cupboard doors began to open and slam shut; the water in the pan on the stove began to boil, even though there was no burner on; plates were being hurled across the kitchen, smashing against the wall; and that pale looking child holding the teddy bear, always stood outside that room, always weeping.
As I say, that was twelve months ago. Since then, you've been living rent free with your best friend and the guy that is soon to become her husband. She is pregnant and it's quite obvious from the hushed arguments you keep hearing that they want to be playing happy families; not only that but the room you're sleeping in is the perfect size for a nursery. All the signs are there, it's just a matter of time before they ask you to leave.
The bad news is that you can't afford to pay the mortgage on that house and rent a place at the same time. You've had no luck with the Estate Agents, despite the price of your house being dropped twice, and you're struggling to make ends meet.
Then, out of the blue, the Estate Agent rings; an offer has been made for your property, and it's only two grand short of the asking price. Apparently, the prospective purchasers have the money available, so there are no mortgage applications to hold things up and they're not in a chain... happy days!
Then you find out the offer has come from an elderly couple looking for somewhere to retire. After viewing the house, the couple, married for nigh on fifty years and now both in their seventies, fell in love with the property. John had been a self-employed Carpenter most of his life and his wife, Mary, had been a Midwife, before ill-health had forced her into early retirement. They have no children as, although they always wanted them, two miscarriages were more than poor Mary could bear. When John was diagnosed with cancer, which is now thankfully in remission, they decided to spend the rest of their days together in the country.
So your dilemma is, do you tell them about the paranormal activity and jeopardise the sale of the house? After all, the Property Misdescriptions Act 1991 does not refer to haunted houses, though it does create a general duty to avoid making false or misleading statements. As you haven't actually made any statement s regarding a haunting, then you're not misleading anyone... are you?
The general position is governed by the legal principle of 'caveat emptor' or 'buyer beware' i.e. it's up to a buyer to make a full inspection of the property for defects and make full enquiries of the seller before proceeding with the purchase. So, if they don't ask, you have no obligation to present the information, right? And in any case, they've already had a viewing and obviously nothing happened, so maybe whatever it was, moved out when you did.
On the other hand, they haven't had an easy life. They seem such a lovely couple and an experience like the one you encountered could, and probably would, be one trauma too many. Let’s face it, had they have been a couple of smarmy city-slickers looking for a country retreat, would you be even considering playing the role of Honest Joe? Maybe if you came clean with John and Mary, they might still want to buy the house; or is that just you being naive? Can you afford to take the risk; that is the question?
Engaging Thought
Having taken your fiancé on a romantic break to London, you are standing outside a busy Jeweller’s shop, whilst your fiancé has popped into a clothes shop nearby. As it goes, this is the same Jeweller’s that you both visited yesterday, and from which the light of your life picked out, and tried on, a £2,500 engagement ring. It fit perfectly! How it broke her heart when she had to put it back but, seeing as you only have a budget of £500, your little Cinders knows only too well that she is more likely to spend a lifetime cleaning out the fire grate that sparkling at the ball.
But then something happens that maybe even a fairy Godmother wouldn't have dreamt up. You're looking through the glass door at that impressive rock she fell in love with, when the Shop Assistant removes the tray upon which it proudly sits. She then presents it in front of a young couple. He is around five-and-a-half feet tall, of slight build, and dressed in smart casual clothing. The girl is petite, looks middle-class and is wearing a plain blue dress. They smile at each other and she pecks him on the cheek; it all looks as you'd expect of a young, loving couple.
As the girl tries on one of the other rings, suddenly, it pops out of her hand and bounces on the glass topped display cabinet. In that one brief second, as the Assistant reaches out to stop it falling, the young man removes the ring your fiancé chose and slips it in his pocket, replacing it with, no doubt, a gold plated ring. It was a slick, well-rehearsed move that all happened in the blink of an eye. After trying the ring on and holding it up to the light, the girl hands it to the Assistant who then replaces it in the velvet tray and back beneath the counter. Moments later, the young couple thank the Assistant and leave the shop.
Although you’re not usually one for confrontation, the moment they come out, you confront them.
"Excuse me; I saw what you just did then."
The two of them seem quite taken aback.
"Shall we go back inside? I think you have some explaining to do."
To your surprise, the man seems totally flustered.
"You're a store detective, aren't you? he replies, "I knew this would happen! Not that we normally do this kind of thing, honestly. We just want to get married and settle down."
Stepping to the side of the shop window, the young man takes the diamond ring from his pocket and holds it out.
"Look, my girlfriend is pregnant and we want to get married before the baby arrives, that's all, “he explains, "We just couldn't afford a ring. Please, just take it back and let us go on our way. I swear on our unborn baby's life, we will never do this kind of thing again. It was just a moment of stupidity, a rush of blood, call it what you will. If I get done for this, I’ll lose my job, my friends won’t want to know me, I could even end up in prison; we both could. What kind of start in life would that be for a child?"
You can tell just by looking into their eyes that he's talking absolute BS. One, she doesn’t even look pregnant and, two, it's patently obvious that these two charmers are obviously career criminals and, if they were to be given six months in prison, they'd come out and steal from the first shop they entered. Nevertheless, you hold out your hand and he places it your hot, sweaty little palm.
"Thank you," he says, "Thank you so much for giving us this second chance. We won't let you down, I swear."
With that, they disappear into a crowd of shoppers.
So there you are; a £2,500 diamond engagement ring in your hand... albeit a STOLEN £2,500 diamond engagement ring. But who’s to know? You’re here on a break with your fiancé. Tomorrow you’ll be a few hundred miles away and back in your home town. If there were to be any CCTV cameras in the shop, it wouldn't be you they recorded stealing the ring, that’s for sure. Just imagine your fiancé’s face when you present her with that rock; there ain’t enough brownie points in the world, my friend. Of course, you’d have to explain to your fiancé where you came up with the money and why you don’t have a receipt, but there’s plenty of time to think about between now and when you tell her about what happened. I mean, it’s not like your fiancé is whiter than white, and we all know what women are like when they set their hearts on an object of desire.
You’ve also got to ask yourself, what’s the alternative... a big thank you from the Shop Assistant? Maybe a few hours of your time spent answering questions and giving descriptions if the shop owners’ decides to call in the Police, which they’re more than likely to do. If they catch the thieves, what then? You may be called as a witness and have to attend a London court, which means time off work and filling out travel expense and loss of earnings forms. In the worst case scenario, you could actually end up in the dock yourself for receiving stolen goods. It seems like a no-brainer, but what does your conscience tell you to do?
Having taken your fiancé on a romantic break to London, you are standing outside a busy Jeweller’s shop, whilst your fiancé has popped into a clothes shop nearby. As it goes, this is the same Jeweller’s that you both visited yesterday, and from which the light of your life picked out, and tried on, a £2,500 engagement ring. It fit perfectly! How it broke her heart when she had to put it back but, seeing as you only have a budget of £500, your little Cinders knows only too well that she is more likely to spend a lifetime cleaning out the fire grate that sparkling at the ball.
But then something happens that maybe even a fairy Godmother wouldn't have dreamt up. You're looking through the glass door at that impressive rock she fell in love with, when the Shop Assistant removes the tray upon which it proudly sits. She then presents it in front of a young couple. He is around five-and-a-half feet tall, of slight build, and dressed in smart casual clothing. The girl is petite, looks middle-class and is wearing a plain blue dress. They smile at each other and she pecks him on the cheek; it all looks as you'd expect of a young, loving couple.
As the girl tries on one of the other rings, suddenly, it pops out of her hand and bounces on the glass topped display cabinet. In that one brief second, as the Assistant reaches out to stop it falling, the young man removes the ring your fiancé chose and slips it in his pocket, replacing it with, no doubt, a gold plated ring. It was a slick, well-rehearsed move that all happened in the blink of an eye. After trying the ring on and holding it up to the light, the girl hands it to the Assistant who then replaces it in the velvet tray and back beneath the counter. Moments later, the young couple thank the Assistant and leave the shop.
Although you’re not usually one for confrontation, the moment they come out, you confront them.
"Excuse me; I saw what you just did then."
The two of them seem quite taken aback.
"Shall we go back inside? I think you have some explaining to do."
To your surprise, the man seems totally flustered.
"You're a store detective, aren't you? he replies, "I knew this would happen! Not that we normally do this kind of thing, honestly. We just want to get married and settle down."
Stepping to the side of the shop window, the young man takes the diamond ring from his pocket and holds it out.
"Look, my girlfriend is pregnant and we want to get married before the baby arrives, that's all, “he explains, "We just couldn't afford a ring. Please, just take it back and let us go on our way. I swear on our unborn baby's life, we will never do this kind of thing again. It was just a moment of stupidity, a rush of blood, call it what you will. If I get done for this, I’ll lose my job, my friends won’t want to know me, I could even end up in prison; we both could. What kind of start in life would that be for a child?"
You can tell just by looking into their eyes that he's talking absolute BS. One, she doesn’t even look pregnant and, two, it's patently obvious that these two charmers are obviously career criminals and, if they were to be given six months in prison, they'd come out and steal from the first shop they entered. Nevertheless, you hold out your hand and he places it your hot, sweaty little palm.
"Thank you," he says, "Thank you so much for giving us this second chance. We won't let you down, I swear."
With that, they disappear into a crowd of shoppers.
So there you are; a £2,500 diamond engagement ring in your hand... albeit a STOLEN £2,500 diamond engagement ring. But who’s to know? You’re here on a break with your fiancé. Tomorrow you’ll be a few hundred miles away and back in your home town. If there were to be any CCTV cameras in the shop, it wouldn't be you they recorded stealing the ring, that’s for sure. Just imagine your fiancé’s face when you present her with that rock; there ain’t enough brownie points in the world, my friend. Of course, you’d have to explain to your fiancé where you came up with the money and why you don’t have a receipt, but there’s plenty of time to think about between now and when you tell her about what happened. I mean, it’s not like your fiancé is whiter than white, and we all know what women are like when they set their hearts on an object of desire.
You’ve also got to ask yourself, what’s the alternative... a big thank you from the Shop Assistant? Maybe a few hours of your time spent answering questions and giving descriptions if the shop owners’ decides to call in the Police, which they’re more than likely to do. If they catch the thieves, what then? You may be called as a witness and have to attend a London court, which means time off work and filling out travel expense and loss of earnings forms. In the worst case scenario, you could actually end up in the dock yourself for receiving stolen goods. It seems like a no-brainer, but what does your conscience tell you to do?
Rabbit Stew
You’re driving along a B road when a rabbit races out in front of you. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite make it past your front nearside tyre. Naturally, you stop and look in your mirror. The quiet village road has a couple of street lights that provide just enough illumination for you to see a rabbit with paralysed back legs, dragging itself to the edge of the bushes. Opening the car door, you can plainly hear its painful cries as the poor creature lies in agony.
The question you are now faced with is; do you have the spine to match your compassion? You know what you should do; put the poor thing out of its misery. As it hasn’t fully made it back to the bushes, do you get back in the car and reverse over it; try and find a heavy object like a large to rock to deliver the fatal blow; or have you the balls to break its neck with your bare hands? You could, of course, jump straight back in your car and drive off, condemning it to a prolonged, agonising death. It’s your call.
You’re driving along a B road when a rabbit races out in front of you. Unfortunately, it didn’t quite make it past your front nearside tyre. Naturally, you stop and look in your mirror. The quiet village road has a couple of street lights that provide just enough illumination for you to see a rabbit with paralysed back legs, dragging itself to the edge of the bushes. Opening the car door, you can plainly hear its painful cries as the poor creature lies in agony.
The question you are now faced with is; do you have the spine to match your compassion? You know what you should do; put the poor thing out of its misery. As it hasn’t fully made it back to the bushes, do you get back in the car and reverse over it; try and find a heavy object like a large to rock to deliver the fatal blow; or have you the balls to break its neck with your bare hands? You could, of course, jump straight back in your car and drive off, condemning it to a prolonged, agonising death. It’s your call.
Rock Bottom
Six years ago, a man called Joey Steele from the 80’s rock band, Reform, was sentenced to two years behind bars for sexually abusing your 10-year-old daughter. The band had been doing a promo’ video in a mansion about half-a-mile from your house, and your daughter was one of a group of twenty school children that had been chosen to sing the backing vocals. She was so excited to be on television and performing with her friends. But then it all turned sour when one of the Teachers witnessed your daughter sat on Steele’s knee and he was... let’s just say he was taking advantage of her.
Now your daughter is 16-years-old and, for the past year, has been suffering from a rare medical condition that threatens her life. Her best chance of survival is for her to travel to America for an operation that can’t be carried out in the UK. It’s an expensive procedure and will cost in the region of £10,000, plus another £5,000 if you include the travel expenses and accommodation, being as you would be accompanying her. Without the procedure, her life expectancy will be between five and ten years; with the procedure, although there are no guarantees, it is likely she will live a full and normal life.
As the Banks and even the loan companies are reluctant to lend you the money, and there's not enough equity in your house to cover what you need, things are looking pretty bleak. Yet time is of the essence and, in a desperate bid to raise the funds, media appeals are soon in full swing. However, no one comes forward, at least not for the first few weeks.
Then, as hope fades, you receive a letter from Joey Steele, offering you the full cost of the operation, the accommodation costs for your daughter and yourself, and flights to America in his own private jet. He goes to great lengths to explain how remorseful he is and that he realises his sentence was inadequate. This, he says, is his chance to help put things right, even though it will never make up for his terrible deeds. He goes on to say that you will never even have the need to see or speak with him, as everything will be arranged by an intermediary.
So, before you tell him where to stick his filthy money, maybe you ought to put your own feelings to one side for a moment and consider what this would mean for your daughter. You could, I suppose, go to the newspapers and offer them the story of how the paedophile rock star from the 80’s has offered to pay for your daughter’s operation. That, of course, could result in some form of media frenzy, and that’s something that your daughter could well do without. Also, at the end of the day, could you guarantee that the newspaper you sold the story to would make good with the £15,000? Would you even consider asking your daughter what she wanted to do? It is, after all, her life, and she is of an age where she could make an informed decision. But it’s such a huge decision to place on such young shoulders. Not only that, but you’d be asking her to relive the dark and traumatic past that she has struggled for so long to forget.
Let’s assume that you do accept Steele’s offer without your daughter’s knowledge. One day she is bound to find out; do you think she’ll thank you or blame you? So what will you do? Which is greater, your hatred for the man that stole your daughter’s innocence, or that one chance to give her a long and normal life?
Six years ago, a man called Joey Steele from the 80’s rock band, Reform, was sentenced to two years behind bars for sexually abusing your 10-year-old daughter. The band had been doing a promo’ video in a mansion about half-a-mile from your house, and your daughter was one of a group of twenty school children that had been chosen to sing the backing vocals. She was so excited to be on television and performing with her friends. But then it all turned sour when one of the Teachers witnessed your daughter sat on Steele’s knee and he was... let’s just say he was taking advantage of her.
Now your daughter is 16-years-old and, for the past year, has been suffering from a rare medical condition that threatens her life. Her best chance of survival is for her to travel to America for an operation that can’t be carried out in the UK. It’s an expensive procedure and will cost in the region of £10,000, plus another £5,000 if you include the travel expenses and accommodation, being as you would be accompanying her. Without the procedure, her life expectancy will be between five and ten years; with the procedure, although there are no guarantees, it is likely she will live a full and normal life.
As the Banks and even the loan companies are reluctant to lend you the money, and there's not enough equity in your house to cover what you need, things are looking pretty bleak. Yet time is of the essence and, in a desperate bid to raise the funds, media appeals are soon in full swing. However, no one comes forward, at least not for the first few weeks.
Then, as hope fades, you receive a letter from Joey Steele, offering you the full cost of the operation, the accommodation costs for your daughter and yourself, and flights to America in his own private jet. He goes to great lengths to explain how remorseful he is and that he realises his sentence was inadequate. This, he says, is his chance to help put things right, even though it will never make up for his terrible deeds. He goes on to say that you will never even have the need to see or speak with him, as everything will be arranged by an intermediary.
So, before you tell him where to stick his filthy money, maybe you ought to put your own feelings to one side for a moment and consider what this would mean for your daughter. You could, I suppose, go to the newspapers and offer them the story of how the paedophile rock star from the 80’s has offered to pay for your daughter’s operation. That, of course, could result in some form of media frenzy, and that’s something that your daughter could well do without. Also, at the end of the day, could you guarantee that the newspaper you sold the story to would make good with the £15,000? Would you even consider asking your daughter what she wanted to do? It is, after all, her life, and she is of an age where she could make an informed decision. But it’s such a huge decision to place on such young shoulders. Not only that, but you’d be asking her to relive the dark and traumatic past that she has struggled for so long to forget.
Let’s assume that you do accept Steele’s offer without your daughter’s knowledge. One day she is bound to find out; do you think she’ll thank you or blame you? So what will you do? Which is greater, your hatred for the man that stole your daughter’s innocence, or that one chance to give her a long and normal life?
Buried Treasure
Your father is lying on his death bed and you are sat beside him. He is weak, but has just enough strength to speak. Whilst you were going through his things back at his house, you had stumbled across what looked like a hand-drawn map. It certainly looked authentic and even had a cross marking what appeared to be a grave in a cemetery about two miles from where he lived. As it seemed to identify the location of a grave, you thought little of it; until now.
“You’ve found it, haven’t you?” he asks.
“Found what?” you reply.
“You found the map.”
“Get some rest, dad; you’re tired.”
“I’ll get all the rest I need where I’m going. No, there’s something I must tell you before I make my final journey. Around twenty-five years ago, it was me sitting next to my father’s bed, watching as the life ebbed away from his tired body. I too had found the map and was curious as to what it signified. My dear old dad made me promise that I would never go looking for the grave and whatever was buried there, as his search for the so-called treasure had brought him nothing but heartache and bad luck.”
“Treasure?!”
“That cross on the map marks my Uncle Frank’s grave. He was a gangster, for want of a better word. People feared him so much that they would cross the street whenever he walked by. Anyway, when he died, the funeral was a very guarded affair. Some say that the four men that actually lowered him into the ground all died in mysterious circumstances. To this day, folk still tell of how Frank was buried along with his most treasured possessions; things like gold and diamonds, and that he swore that no one would ever get their hands on them. To all intents and purposes, he placed a curse on anyone who tried to take them from him.”
“It all sounds a bit far-fetched if you ask me.”
“That’s what I thought, despite promising my father on his death bed that I wouldn’t go looking for the grave. But then I thought, well why hadn’t my father just burnt the map, and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. In the end, I couldn’t help but succumb to my curiosity. With hindsight, how I wished I hadn’t.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Three times I went in search of that treasure, and on each of those occasions, something terrible and unforeseen happened. The first time, my sister came with me. We went on our bikes and set off early one morning. On the way there, she was hit by a driverless truck and killed. The back tyre ran over her neck and decapitated her. It came out at the inquest that the driver had left the truck in neutral and the hand break cable snapped. It missed me by inches, but your Aunt Celia never stood a chance. The second time, I’d decided to go it alone and in the evening. But when I got there, a bunch of kids were hanging around the gates, one was trying to climb over them. I guess he must have been startled when I arrived because he lost his footing and the top of one of the spiked railings speared through his neck and came out by his ear. I will never forget how his body trembled, and that gurgling sound he made as he choked on his own blood. Huh, you think that would be enough for anyone, wouldn’t you? But, no, I still couldn’t believe these things were linked. So, against your mother’s wishes, I set off again. It must have been getting to me because I stopped for some Dutch courage at the local pub on the way. I only had a couple of pints, and then set off to find this damn treasure. As I approached the grave, I could see a light flickering as it came towards me. It was Constable Lilley on his pushbike. You mother had told him where to find me, and now he was there to tell me that your mother had miscarried. You would have had a sister if it hadn’t been for that stupid map!
“I know it all sounds strange," I reasoned, "but it doesn’t mean to say that it wasn’t down to coincidence.”
“Really? Do you remember your Uncle Kenneth?”
“Yeah, I remember him. He died in that Care Home two or three years back.”
“That’s him. Well he knew about the map too and kept hounding me to show it to him. So I did, and he took it upon himself to go look for it. But when he entered the cemetery, he was attacked by a drunkard, who smashed a bottle in his face. Your Uncle Kenneth was blind from that moment on.”
“So hang on, you’re telling me all this and yet you never burnt the map either; why?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know. Maybe you’ll discover the answer to that question before you have the need to explain it to your son. As I lay here close to death, my last wish is that I want you to give me your solemn promise that you will never seek out that grave or the treasure that supposedly accompanies Frank beneath the earth... promise me!”
So, the dilemma is, do you promise your father that you won’t go in search of the treasure and, if you do, will you keep that promise? Let’s face it, he made the same promise to his father and broke it. Do you believe in curses enough to turn your back on what could amount to a fortune? But then, supposing you ran the risk of digging up a body and there was no treasure to be found? There are laws against digging up dead folk. Maybe you’d get some unscrupulous individual to dig up the grave for you and hope that he doesn’t rip you off, that’s if some strange accident didn’t befall him first. I suppose the question is; are you prepared to risk your own safety, and that of your family, on the strength of a rumour? Maybe you’ll decide to burn the map and put an end to the legend, or maybe you’ll keep it for... well, why would you keep it?
Your father is lying on his death bed and you are sat beside him. He is weak, but has just enough strength to speak. Whilst you were going through his things back at his house, you had stumbled across what looked like a hand-drawn map. It certainly looked authentic and even had a cross marking what appeared to be a grave in a cemetery about two miles from where he lived. As it seemed to identify the location of a grave, you thought little of it; until now.
“You’ve found it, haven’t you?” he asks.
“Found what?” you reply.
“You found the map.”
“Get some rest, dad; you’re tired.”
“I’ll get all the rest I need where I’m going. No, there’s something I must tell you before I make my final journey. Around twenty-five years ago, it was me sitting next to my father’s bed, watching as the life ebbed away from his tired body. I too had found the map and was curious as to what it signified. My dear old dad made me promise that I would never go looking for the grave and whatever was buried there, as his search for the so-called treasure had brought him nothing but heartache and bad luck.”
“Treasure?!”
“That cross on the map marks my Uncle Frank’s grave. He was a gangster, for want of a better word. People feared him so much that they would cross the street whenever he walked by. Anyway, when he died, the funeral was a very guarded affair. Some say that the four men that actually lowered him into the ground all died in mysterious circumstances. To this day, folk still tell of how Frank was buried along with his most treasured possessions; things like gold and diamonds, and that he swore that no one would ever get their hands on them. To all intents and purposes, he placed a curse on anyone who tried to take them from him.”
“It all sounds a bit far-fetched if you ask me.”
“That’s what I thought, despite promising my father on his death bed that I wouldn’t go looking for the grave. But then I thought, well why hadn’t my father just burnt the map, and we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. In the end, I couldn’t help but succumb to my curiosity. With hindsight, how I wished I hadn’t.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Three times I went in search of that treasure, and on each of those occasions, something terrible and unforeseen happened. The first time, my sister came with me. We went on our bikes and set off early one morning. On the way there, she was hit by a driverless truck and killed. The back tyre ran over her neck and decapitated her. It came out at the inquest that the driver had left the truck in neutral and the hand break cable snapped. It missed me by inches, but your Aunt Celia never stood a chance. The second time, I’d decided to go it alone and in the evening. But when I got there, a bunch of kids were hanging around the gates, one was trying to climb over them. I guess he must have been startled when I arrived because he lost his footing and the top of one of the spiked railings speared through his neck and came out by his ear. I will never forget how his body trembled, and that gurgling sound he made as he choked on his own blood. Huh, you think that would be enough for anyone, wouldn’t you? But, no, I still couldn’t believe these things were linked. So, against your mother’s wishes, I set off again. It must have been getting to me because I stopped for some Dutch courage at the local pub on the way. I only had a couple of pints, and then set off to find this damn treasure. As I approached the grave, I could see a light flickering as it came towards me. It was Constable Lilley on his pushbike. You mother had told him where to find me, and now he was there to tell me that your mother had miscarried. You would have had a sister if it hadn’t been for that stupid map!
“I know it all sounds strange," I reasoned, "but it doesn’t mean to say that it wasn’t down to coincidence.”
“Really? Do you remember your Uncle Kenneth?”
“Yeah, I remember him. He died in that Care Home two or three years back.”
“That’s him. Well he knew about the map too and kept hounding me to show it to him. So I did, and he took it upon himself to go look for it. But when he entered the cemetery, he was attacked by a drunkard, who smashed a bottle in his face. Your Uncle Kenneth was blind from that moment on.”
“So hang on, you’re telling me all this and yet you never burnt the map either; why?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know. Maybe you’ll discover the answer to that question before you have the need to explain it to your son. As I lay here close to death, my last wish is that I want you to give me your solemn promise that you will never seek out that grave or the treasure that supposedly accompanies Frank beneath the earth... promise me!”
So, the dilemma is, do you promise your father that you won’t go in search of the treasure and, if you do, will you keep that promise? Let’s face it, he made the same promise to his father and broke it. Do you believe in curses enough to turn your back on what could amount to a fortune? But then, supposing you ran the risk of digging up a body and there was no treasure to be found? There are laws against digging up dead folk. Maybe you’d get some unscrupulous individual to dig up the grave for you and hope that he doesn’t rip you off, that’s if some strange accident didn’t befall him first. I suppose the question is; are you prepared to risk your own safety, and that of your family, on the strength of a rumour? Maybe you’ll decide to burn the map and put an end to the legend, or maybe you’ll keep it for... well, why would you keep it?
Crimewatch
You thought it was going to be a quiet night in front of the TV with a packet of popcorn and a bar of fruit and nut. How wrong can you be? Part way through the Crimewatch program, you listen to an incident about the rape of two women on two separate occasions. Both crimes, the Police believe, were carried out by the same man and in the same town, around 80 miles from where you live, and just before last Christmas. The Police are worried that the man could strike again and appeal for the public’s help.
As the story unfolds, you’re sat there thinking about how rapists should be strung up and castrated, until they begin to talk about the person whom they’re looking for. The age of the individual, the general description, even the artist’s impression, well, you don’t really pay much attention to. Until they mention an unusual tattoo; a tattoo that must surely be unique. How many people do you know that have the tattoo of a winged kiwi on their inner thigh with the initials BWH below it... that’s right, your son has one, doesn’t he?! But that’s stupid! Your son isn’t a rapist, he hates rapists as much as you do; you’ve heard him say so on many occasions. Anyway, if he had done something as unthinkable as that, you most certainly would have known about it. You’re the one person he can’t hide anything from, right?
Maybe they’ve got it wrong; maybe it wasn’t a winged kiwi the victim saw, maybe it was Pegasus or a Griffin, or even a Welsh dragon. Lots of people have winged creature tattoos. I mean, the victim must have been traumatised by what was happening to her, and we all know that the mind can play tricks. What about those initials though, BWH, below it. That’s not your son’s initials; in fact, who do you know with those initials... no one, that’s right! In any case, this was 80 miles away, for goodness’ sake! What were you thinking?!
Just a minute, those initials; now you come to think about it, don’t you remember where your son got that tattoo? Of course, his best mate, the Tattooist Barry Smith, he did it about one week before he was killed in a motorbike accident. Yes, it’s all coming back now, he did tattoo BWH below it because he said it stood for ‘Barry Was Here’. He did it one night when your son was out of his tree through drink. Do you recall how your son said he made Barry swear on his life never to tell anyone about the tattoo because he was so embarrassed by it? Ironically, Barry's life only lasted about six days after that. In fact, the scabbing on your son’s tattoo was still there on the day they buried Barry.
You rewind the Crimewatch item and watch it over again. As you scrutinise the artist’s impression and think about the general description, there are some similarities, but the 80 miles? Oh, Jesus! Just before Christmas? Wasn’t that the time he was working away? He was staying at that old lady’s guest house, doing some sort of renovation work. You recall him saying that she normally closed for the winter season but, as you were working there, you could stay in one of the guest rooms, free-of-charge.
As you can still remember the name of the town where your son was working, you Google it... Oh, my God, it was only 5 miles from the city where the rapes took place. That puts your son right in the frame; the description, the time and place and, most damning of all, the unique tattoo. STOP RIGHT THERE! It’s all circumstantial. It doesn’t prove that your son, who you know to be a loving, caring person, is a serial rapist!
So what are you going to do now; phone Crimestoppers? Phone the program? Phone the Police? Phone your son and ask him to come straight home? He’d want to know what was so urgent, of course; or you could just wait for him to come home in his own time, BEFORE you imply that he’s guilty of two counts of rape?! He’ll love you for that, won’t he! One thing’s for sure, you can’t sit back and do nothing... or can you? Just supposing it was him; who actually knows about the tattoo? Well, you for one, at least one of the victims, a dead tattooist and, possibly, a previous girlfriend? Come on now, deep breaths!!! They’ve already said on Crimewatch that they have the rapist’s DNA. This could be over in next to no time and you can all get on with your lives without this shadow hanging over you. Yes, you’d be ratting on your son for which he may never forgive you but, on the other hand, he’d surely understand that you did what you did for all the right reasons. Those victims have mothers and fathers too, how must they be feeling? If you were in their shoes, I’m sure you’d want the... the what... the rapist’s family to come forward? Loyalty versus morals... it’s time for you to decide.
You thought it was going to be a quiet night in front of the TV with a packet of popcorn and a bar of fruit and nut. How wrong can you be? Part way through the Crimewatch program, you listen to an incident about the rape of two women on two separate occasions. Both crimes, the Police believe, were carried out by the same man and in the same town, around 80 miles from where you live, and just before last Christmas. The Police are worried that the man could strike again and appeal for the public’s help.
As the story unfolds, you’re sat there thinking about how rapists should be strung up and castrated, until they begin to talk about the person whom they’re looking for. The age of the individual, the general description, even the artist’s impression, well, you don’t really pay much attention to. Until they mention an unusual tattoo; a tattoo that must surely be unique. How many people do you know that have the tattoo of a winged kiwi on their inner thigh with the initials BWH below it... that’s right, your son has one, doesn’t he?! But that’s stupid! Your son isn’t a rapist, he hates rapists as much as you do; you’ve heard him say so on many occasions. Anyway, if he had done something as unthinkable as that, you most certainly would have known about it. You’re the one person he can’t hide anything from, right?
Maybe they’ve got it wrong; maybe it wasn’t a winged kiwi the victim saw, maybe it was Pegasus or a Griffin, or even a Welsh dragon. Lots of people have winged creature tattoos. I mean, the victim must have been traumatised by what was happening to her, and we all know that the mind can play tricks. What about those initials though, BWH, below it. That’s not your son’s initials; in fact, who do you know with those initials... no one, that’s right! In any case, this was 80 miles away, for goodness’ sake! What were you thinking?!
Just a minute, those initials; now you come to think about it, don’t you remember where your son got that tattoo? Of course, his best mate, the Tattooist Barry Smith, he did it about one week before he was killed in a motorbike accident. Yes, it’s all coming back now, he did tattoo BWH below it because he said it stood for ‘Barry Was Here’. He did it one night when your son was out of his tree through drink. Do you recall how your son said he made Barry swear on his life never to tell anyone about the tattoo because he was so embarrassed by it? Ironically, Barry's life only lasted about six days after that. In fact, the scabbing on your son’s tattoo was still there on the day they buried Barry.
You rewind the Crimewatch item and watch it over again. As you scrutinise the artist’s impression and think about the general description, there are some similarities, but the 80 miles? Oh, Jesus! Just before Christmas? Wasn’t that the time he was working away? He was staying at that old lady’s guest house, doing some sort of renovation work. You recall him saying that she normally closed for the winter season but, as you were working there, you could stay in one of the guest rooms, free-of-charge.
As you can still remember the name of the town where your son was working, you Google it... Oh, my God, it was only 5 miles from the city where the rapes took place. That puts your son right in the frame; the description, the time and place and, most damning of all, the unique tattoo. STOP RIGHT THERE! It’s all circumstantial. It doesn’t prove that your son, who you know to be a loving, caring person, is a serial rapist!
So what are you going to do now; phone Crimestoppers? Phone the program? Phone the Police? Phone your son and ask him to come straight home? He’d want to know what was so urgent, of course; or you could just wait for him to come home in his own time, BEFORE you imply that he’s guilty of two counts of rape?! He’ll love you for that, won’t he! One thing’s for sure, you can’t sit back and do nothing... or can you? Just supposing it was him; who actually knows about the tattoo? Well, you for one, at least one of the victims, a dead tattooist and, possibly, a previous girlfriend? Come on now, deep breaths!!! They’ve already said on Crimewatch that they have the rapist’s DNA. This could be over in next to no time and you can all get on with your lives without this shadow hanging over you. Yes, you’d be ratting on your son for which he may never forgive you but, on the other hand, he’d surely understand that you did what you did for all the right reasons. Those victims have mothers and fathers too, how must they be feeling? If you were in their shoes, I’m sure you’d want the... the what... the rapist’s family to come forward? Loyalty versus morals... it’s time for you to decide.
Happy Families
A few short weeks ago, you met up with an old acquaintance and you ended up having one too many drinks together. Amongst your reminisces, your buddy happened to let slip that the woman you were having an affair with, behind your wife’s back around four years ago, and dumped you for no apparent reason, is now living with another old friend of yours and bringing up a four year old child. Now it might be reasonable to think that she’d been seeing your old friend at the same time as she was with you. Maybe she became pregnant with his child. That would certainly explain why she suddenly dumped you and without explanation. As I say, that would be a reasonable assumption to make, had it not been for the fact that your old friend had a vasectomy ten years ago.
Still, as it seemed such a strong possibility that the child might be yours, you do a little digging and find out where they are living. Of course, as you are happily married with the wife and family you never actually got round to leaving, you question the wisdom of your search, but then you were always one to let your heart rule your head, weren’t you?
Arriving at the small country cottage, you hide in the bushes and watch the house until the child appears with his mother. His father, if indeed that is what he is, appears moments late carrying a tray with what looks like glasses of lemonade. There are also sandwiches and cake on the tray. He sets them down on the garden table and the child kicks the ball to him. The mother joins in and they are laughing. It all ends in a big hug from the father.
So, you didn’t have any set agenda when you arrived at the cottage, and I don’t know exactly what you thought you’d do or say either. But there it is, all set out in front of your eyes; the perfect family scenario. The mother and father are happy and the child looks full of joy. Are you prepared to tear their lives apart on the off-chance you could be the father? You must also consider what it would do to your family. You could end up out on a limb and still no closer to the truth. It’s a hunch, and that’s all it is! So why not let sleeping dogs lie. It would make a lot of sense; but what does your heart tell you to do?
A few short weeks ago, you met up with an old acquaintance and you ended up having one too many drinks together. Amongst your reminisces, your buddy happened to let slip that the woman you were having an affair with, behind your wife’s back around four years ago, and dumped you for no apparent reason, is now living with another old friend of yours and bringing up a four year old child. Now it might be reasonable to think that she’d been seeing your old friend at the same time as she was with you. Maybe she became pregnant with his child. That would certainly explain why she suddenly dumped you and without explanation. As I say, that would be a reasonable assumption to make, had it not been for the fact that your old friend had a vasectomy ten years ago.
Still, as it seemed such a strong possibility that the child might be yours, you do a little digging and find out where they are living. Of course, as you are happily married with the wife and family you never actually got round to leaving, you question the wisdom of your search, but then you were always one to let your heart rule your head, weren’t you?
Arriving at the small country cottage, you hide in the bushes and watch the house until the child appears with his mother. His father, if indeed that is what he is, appears moments late carrying a tray with what looks like glasses of lemonade. There are also sandwiches and cake on the tray. He sets them down on the garden table and the child kicks the ball to him. The mother joins in and they are laughing. It all ends in a big hug from the father.
So, you didn’t have any set agenda when you arrived at the cottage, and I don’t know exactly what you thought you’d do or say either. But there it is, all set out in front of your eyes; the perfect family scenario. The mother and father are happy and the child looks full of joy. Are you prepared to tear their lives apart on the off-chance you could be the father? You must also consider what it would do to your family. You could end up out on a limb and still no closer to the truth. It’s a hunch, and that’s all it is! So why not let sleeping dogs lie. It would make a lot of sense; but what does your heart tell you to do?
One Night Rider
You meet up with a girlfriend you haven’t seen in a while. She is driving a Ferrari and wearing expensive jewellery. As you were just leaving your house, she pulls up next to you.
“Angela? Blimey, is that really you behind the sunglasses? What have you been up to; have you won the lottery?”
Angela gets out of the car and gives you a hug. “I’ve come looking for you,” she says.
“And now you’ve found me.”
“Have you got time for a coffee? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
So you take her inside your house and you make the coffee.
“You asked what I’d been up to,” says Angela, “Well, I’m actually a call girl.”
Although you’re not entirely sold on her explanation, she goes into enough detail to convince you that she is, indeed, a high-class prostitute. Angela goes on to say that her wealth is mainly down to one man; an eighty-year-old man with a face that could curdle milk. On the positive side, she is the only woman he has had other than his wife that long since passed away.
You naturally ask why she has found you out to tell you all this, but the answer you receive is not what you might have expected. She says that she was showing him some photos on her mobile and that you were on one of them. Upon seeing the photo, the old man said you reminded him so much of his wife when she was young and they’d first met. In fact, he was so obsessed by you, he asked Angela to proposition you on his behalf.
“Before you say he hasn’t enough money to buy you,” she says, “he probably has. He’s a multi-millionaire. He pays me £500 per night and, when it’s at short notice, he regularly gives me £1,000 per night. Ok, so he looks like a cross between Bruce Forsyth and Alan Sugar but, hey, most of the time you’re not looking at the face anyway.”
You laugh; feel repulsed by the thought of him taking his pleasure from you, and maybe you feel a little flattered, though you don’t want anyone to know that, right?
“Before you say no,” she continues, “he’s told me to offer you £100,000 for one night of passion with you. There’s no bargaining, it’s just a yes or no situation. If you say no, he said that you have his word he will never bother you again. Oh, and in case you were wondering, he has a mansion where he takes me. He lays on fabulous food, gives unbelievable presents, and treats me like a real lady. See this bracelet, it cost £8,000. He gave that to me for my birthday. There is just one other thing, one condition if you will. It has to be unprotected sex. Although he has always used protection with me, I happen to know he had a vasectomy many years ago.”
So, lady, what are you going to do, spread your legs for £100,000? How much is your cha cha worth? Not only that but, if the guy thinks of you as his deceased wife’s look-a-like (alright, it might seem a little macabre), but he might leave you a little something in his will. Blimey, he might even leave you the whole kit and caboodle, you just don’t know! One night and one night only, and you can kiss your money worries goodbye. Or are you going to be a complete prude and be guided by your morals? In your own time...
You meet up with a girlfriend you haven’t seen in a while. She is driving a Ferrari and wearing expensive jewellery. As you were just leaving your house, she pulls up next to you.
“Angela? Blimey, is that really you behind the sunglasses? What have you been up to; have you won the lottery?”
Angela gets out of the car and gives you a hug. “I’ve come looking for you,” she says.
“And now you’ve found me.”
“Have you got time for a coffee? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
So you take her inside your house and you make the coffee.
“You asked what I’d been up to,” says Angela, “Well, I’m actually a call girl.”
Although you’re not entirely sold on her explanation, she goes into enough detail to convince you that she is, indeed, a high-class prostitute. Angela goes on to say that her wealth is mainly down to one man; an eighty-year-old man with a face that could curdle milk. On the positive side, she is the only woman he has had other than his wife that long since passed away.
You naturally ask why she has found you out to tell you all this, but the answer you receive is not what you might have expected. She says that she was showing him some photos on her mobile and that you were on one of them. Upon seeing the photo, the old man said you reminded him so much of his wife when she was young and they’d first met. In fact, he was so obsessed by you, he asked Angela to proposition you on his behalf.
“Before you say he hasn’t enough money to buy you,” she says, “he probably has. He’s a multi-millionaire. He pays me £500 per night and, when it’s at short notice, he regularly gives me £1,000 per night. Ok, so he looks like a cross between Bruce Forsyth and Alan Sugar but, hey, most of the time you’re not looking at the face anyway.”
You laugh; feel repulsed by the thought of him taking his pleasure from you, and maybe you feel a little flattered, though you don’t want anyone to know that, right?
“Before you say no,” she continues, “he’s told me to offer you £100,000 for one night of passion with you. There’s no bargaining, it’s just a yes or no situation. If you say no, he said that you have his word he will never bother you again. Oh, and in case you were wondering, he has a mansion where he takes me. He lays on fabulous food, gives unbelievable presents, and treats me like a real lady. See this bracelet, it cost £8,000. He gave that to me for my birthday. There is just one other thing, one condition if you will. It has to be unprotected sex. Although he has always used protection with me, I happen to know he had a vasectomy many years ago.”
So, lady, what are you going to do, spread your legs for £100,000? How much is your cha cha worth? Not only that but, if the guy thinks of you as his deceased wife’s look-a-like (alright, it might seem a little macabre), but he might leave you a little something in his will. Blimey, he might even leave you the whole kit and caboodle, you just don’t know! One night and one night only, and you can kiss your money worries goodbye. Or are you going to be a complete prude and be guided by your morals? In your own time...
Barrow Boy
You're browsing in an indoor market in a town that's twenty or thirty miles from where you live, when you see a group of eight males, aged around 17 to 19, frogmarching a boy of around 16, outside. Curious as to what's going on, you follow them as they lead him round the back to a secluded area. The ringleader pushes the frightened boy onto a trolley used for transporting vegetables, and begins to intimidate him, whilst his henchmen stand guard. You obviously have no idea as to what's going on, other than the boy is hopelessly outnumbered. As he cowers on the trolley, the ringleader becomes more aggressive, slapping him around the head and kicking him. The boy just covers up to protect himself.
So how long does this have to go on before you take action, and what type of action will it be, if any? Whilst some might walk away, not wishing to get involved, is that what you'd want if it was you, your son, or your brother on that trolley? You could shout for them to stop in the knowledge that, should they come running after you, you're at lot closer to the market entrance than they are and it'd be unlikely for them to follow you back inside. You could shout and run towards them like you mean business, but how many times have you heard of good Samaritans being beaten to a pulp or even killed? You could phone for the Police and let them sort it, but by then the poor boy might be more in need of an ambulance; or do you do a combination of phoning the Police and shouting for them to stop? You could even warn them that the Police were on their way. Of course, if you do call the Police, you'll have to hang around for them to arrive, at which time they'll want to take a statement and, at a later date, you may be called as a witness. Not only that but, assuming they do get caught, at the very least you'll have to attend an ID parade, all in a town that's twenty or thirty miles away.
Well?... You don't have all day to decide!
You're browsing in an indoor market in a town that's twenty or thirty miles from where you live, when you see a group of eight males, aged around 17 to 19, frogmarching a boy of around 16, outside. Curious as to what's going on, you follow them as they lead him round the back to a secluded area. The ringleader pushes the frightened boy onto a trolley used for transporting vegetables, and begins to intimidate him, whilst his henchmen stand guard. You obviously have no idea as to what's going on, other than the boy is hopelessly outnumbered. As he cowers on the trolley, the ringleader becomes more aggressive, slapping him around the head and kicking him. The boy just covers up to protect himself.
So how long does this have to go on before you take action, and what type of action will it be, if any? Whilst some might walk away, not wishing to get involved, is that what you'd want if it was you, your son, or your brother on that trolley? You could shout for them to stop in the knowledge that, should they come running after you, you're at lot closer to the market entrance than they are and it'd be unlikely for them to follow you back inside. You could shout and run towards them like you mean business, but how many times have you heard of good Samaritans being beaten to a pulp or even killed? You could phone for the Police and let them sort it, but by then the poor boy might be more in need of an ambulance; or do you do a combination of phoning the Police and shouting for them to stop? You could even warn them that the Police were on their way. Of course, if you do call the Police, you'll have to hang around for them to arrive, at which time they'll want to take a statement and, at a later date, you may be called as a witness. Not only that but, assuming they do get caught, at the very least you'll have to attend an ID parade, all in a town that's twenty or thirty miles away.
Well?... You don't have all day to decide!
One Direction
It’s a gorgeous Sunday afternoon and you’re ambling along the country roads when you come across a path that you can’t remember seeing before. As usual, your curiosity gets the better of you and so venture to see where it might lead. After around 200 yards, you come to a fork in the path and a man sitting by the side, watching you. You don’t need to ask his name as you know immediately and without doubt who this man is.
“God,” you say in a hushed voice, “what are you doing down here on Earth?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” God answers, “Heaven is a wonderful place but, every few hundred years, I tend to get a little bored. So I thought I might pop down here and wait for the first mortal to take this path.”
“But why?”
“I know I sort of promised myself never to interfere with the natural selection process, particularly when it comes to humans as they do a pretty good job of eradicating themselves. However, on this occasion, I shall make an exception. Call me old fashioned but I sometimes think a little controversy is good for the soul.”
“So what is it you want me to do, turn round and go back?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” smiles, God, “for this is your path of life; there is no turning back.”
You look up at the signpost. On the left arrow it says ‘80’, whilst on the right arrow it just has a question mark.
“So which way do I go,” you ask.
“That decision is yours alone. I can only tell you what lies ahead of each one. If you take the one marked ‘80’, you will never ail anything again. You will never be touched by cancer, strokes, incontinence, dementia, anything; not even the common cold. You will lead a full and healthy life. Even the ageing process will be halved, so you will always look young for your age. On the downside, ‘80’ will be your lifespan and not a day more. On your 80th birthday, you will lie down to sleep and will not wake again. You will feel no pain as you make the transition between life and death.”
“And what if I take the road marked with a question mark.”
“Then nothing will change. You may die tomorrow, or you may live past 100. As is the case now, fate will guide you to your destiny.”
With that, God disappears, leaving you with your choice of direction.
What do you have to consider in making that decision? Well, if you go with fate, you may become ill, or end up in a Care Home dribbling from both ends. There are thousands of complaints and new ones being discovered every day. You’ve always been afraid of being diagnosed with cancer; that would no longer be a concern. Anyway, when you come to think about it, 80 isn’t a bad age to live to either. It actually seems quite appealing. You’d also be guaranteed around 15 years of retirement. You could fit a lot into 15 years, especially with perfect health. No creaking bones or hip replacements, no cataracts, no arthritis, the rest of your life would be a blast! There’s an old proverb that says, “It's better to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a lamb.” That could apply to you.
On the other hand, what will you feel like when 80 get’s nearer, maybe with a week to go? There’s a lot to be said about not knowing when you’re going to die. You’ve seen ninety-odd-year-olds looking good for their age, right? It’s a tough decision to make. Go on, what are you thinking?
It’s a gorgeous Sunday afternoon and you’re ambling along the country roads when you come across a path that you can’t remember seeing before. As usual, your curiosity gets the better of you and so venture to see where it might lead. After around 200 yards, you come to a fork in the path and a man sitting by the side, watching you. You don’t need to ask his name as you know immediately and without doubt who this man is.
“God,” you say in a hushed voice, “what are you doing down here on Earth?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” God answers, “Heaven is a wonderful place but, every few hundred years, I tend to get a little bored. So I thought I might pop down here and wait for the first mortal to take this path.”
“But why?”
“I know I sort of promised myself never to interfere with the natural selection process, particularly when it comes to humans as they do a pretty good job of eradicating themselves. However, on this occasion, I shall make an exception. Call me old fashioned but I sometimes think a little controversy is good for the soul.”
“So what is it you want me to do, turn round and go back?”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” smiles, God, “for this is your path of life; there is no turning back.”
You look up at the signpost. On the left arrow it says ‘80’, whilst on the right arrow it just has a question mark.
“So which way do I go,” you ask.
“That decision is yours alone. I can only tell you what lies ahead of each one. If you take the one marked ‘80’, you will never ail anything again. You will never be touched by cancer, strokes, incontinence, dementia, anything; not even the common cold. You will lead a full and healthy life. Even the ageing process will be halved, so you will always look young for your age. On the downside, ‘80’ will be your lifespan and not a day more. On your 80th birthday, you will lie down to sleep and will not wake again. You will feel no pain as you make the transition between life and death.”
“And what if I take the road marked with a question mark.”
“Then nothing will change. You may die tomorrow, or you may live past 100. As is the case now, fate will guide you to your destiny.”
With that, God disappears, leaving you with your choice of direction.
What do you have to consider in making that decision? Well, if you go with fate, you may become ill, or end up in a Care Home dribbling from both ends. There are thousands of complaints and new ones being discovered every day. You’ve always been afraid of being diagnosed with cancer; that would no longer be a concern. Anyway, when you come to think about it, 80 isn’t a bad age to live to either. It actually seems quite appealing. You’d also be guaranteed around 15 years of retirement. You could fit a lot into 15 years, especially with perfect health. No creaking bones or hip replacements, no cataracts, no arthritis, the rest of your life would be a blast! There’s an old proverb that says, “It's better to live one day as a lion than a hundred years as a lamb.” That could apply to you.
On the other hand, what will you feel like when 80 get’s nearer, maybe with a week to go? There’s a lot to be said about not knowing when you’re going to die. You’ve seen ninety-odd-year-olds looking good for their age, right? It’s a tough decision to make. Go on, what are you thinking?
Poor Little Annie
You've landed a new job in a small company with about twenty employees. It's a happy place and there are some nice people that work there. After a couple of months, you begin to feel really settled and have been even asked if you would like to socialise outside working hours.
However, something arises that you have to make a decision about. There's a man that works in the Accounts department. He's called Mark, is in his mid-forties, married, and has a beautiful four-year-old daughter. He keeps a photograph of his wife and little girl on his desk. You know so much about him because, as everyone feels so sorry for him, his story is well known throughout the company. The little girl in question is called, Annie, and she has a bone disease that ensures she spends much of her time at the hospital undergoing physiotherapy, which is also the reason you don't see Mark around from time to time. In fact, Mark has had to take a week off because Annie is having an operation to improve her mobility. It obviously doesn't affect you as you're not in accounts and, anyway, the time has come for you to take a couple of weeks off and go on that holiday you pre-booked prior to getting the job. As for Mark, at least his family won't suffer financially, as you now work for a caring employer who allows him the odd week's absence here and there, and for which he gets paid.
So, it's the height of summer and the beach is teeming with holidaymakers. You're leaning on the promenade railing, licking your melting ice cream from the side of a chocolate cone and watching families enjoying a break from their everyday lives. As you survey the scene, a familiar face stands out through a crowd of people. You remove your sunglasses and squint as you focus your attention on... on Mark?! And he's not alone. You recognise his wife and daughter, Annie, from the photograph on his desk. But it doesn't make sense. Annie is supposed to be having an operation to improve he mobility, though she doesn't look that immobile as she's prancing about on the beach, chasing after the ball that her father has just thrown. Surely, no one would use their supposedly ill daughter as an excuse to extract some extra paid holiday from their employer... would they?
You take out your mobile and snap a number of photographs of them as they continue to enjoy the sunshine; but what will you do with them? Will you tell your employer as soon as you get back? Mark is bound to lose his job if he doesn't have a good explanation. Will you pass-the-buck and tell your workmates instead. Maybe one of them will grass him to the Management? Mind you, you haven't known any of them for all that long. If, for some unexpected reason, he actually did have an excuse, you'd be about as popular as a floater in a swimming pool. I suppose, when you next see him at work, you could always ask him how his daughter's operation went? At least that way you'd know if he was lying or not. Then again, he could become ultra defensive if he thought you were prying, particularly if he was being deceitful. The other option would be to keep quiet, but then no one likes to think that they're slaving away to pay for someone to take extra holidays at their expense. So are you going to say something, or what?
I'm going to throw another iron into the fire now. When you get back to work and whilst you're still deciding to what to do, one of your co-workers approaches your desk with a brown envelope. Your colleagues are having a collection for little Annie; apparently, the sweet, brave child came through the operation with flying colours.
You've landed a new job in a small company with about twenty employees. It's a happy place and there are some nice people that work there. After a couple of months, you begin to feel really settled and have been even asked if you would like to socialise outside working hours.
However, something arises that you have to make a decision about. There's a man that works in the Accounts department. He's called Mark, is in his mid-forties, married, and has a beautiful four-year-old daughter. He keeps a photograph of his wife and little girl on his desk. You know so much about him because, as everyone feels so sorry for him, his story is well known throughout the company. The little girl in question is called, Annie, and she has a bone disease that ensures she spends much of her time at the hospital undergoing physiotherapy, which is also the reason you don't see Mark around from time to time. In fact, Mark has had to take a week off because Annie is having an operation to improve her mobility. It obviously doesn't affect you as you're not in accounts and, anyway, the time has come for you to take a couple of weeks off and go on that holiday you pre-booked prior to getting the job. As for Mark, at least his family won't suffer financially, as you now work for a caring employer who allows him the odd week's absence here and there, and for which he gets paid.
So, it's the height of summer and the beach is teeming with holidaymakers. You're leaning on the promenade railing, licking your melting ice cream from the side of a chocolate cone and watching families enjoying a break from their everyday lives. As you survey the scene, a familiar face stands out through a crowd of people. You remove your sunglasses and squint as you focus your attention on... on Mark?! And he's not alone. You recognise his wife and daughter, Annie, from the photograph on his desk. But it doesn't make sense. Annie is supposed to be having an operation to improve he mobility, though she doesn't look that immobile as she's prancing about on the beach, chasing after the ball that her father has just thrown. Surely, no one would use their supposedly ill daughter as an excuse to extract some extra paid holiday from their employer... would they?
You take out your mobile and snap a number of photographs of them as they continue to enjoy the sunshine; but what will you do with them? Will you tell your employer as soon as you get back? Mark is bound to lose his job if he doesn't have a good explanation. Will you pass-the-buck and tell your workmates instead. Maybe one of them will grass him to the Management? Mind you, you haven't known any of them for all that long. If, for some unexpected reason, he actually did have an excuse, you'd be about as popular as a floater in a swimming pool. I suppose, when you next see him at work, you could always ask him how his daughter's operation went? At least that way you'd know if he was lying or not. Then again, he could become ultra defensive if he thought you were prying, particularly if he was being deceitful. The other option would be to keep quiet, but then no one likes to think that they're slaving away to pay for someone to take extra holidays at their expense. So are you going to say something, or what?
I'm going to throw another iron into the fire now. When you get back to work and whilst you're still deciding to what to do, one of your co-workers approaches your desk with a brown envelope. Your colleagues are having a collection for little Annie; apparently, the sweet, brave child came through the operation with flying colours.
Fishy Chips
You work for a Blue Chip company making components for Microsoft computers; more precisely, a new microchip marketed as a Zoombug for the brand new Moonlite Everything Everywhere Computer. On the up side, the Zoombug is highly sought after being as it takes graphics to a whole new level. And that’s not all, it also supports the very latest MS Office packages by providing graphics for the futuristic accounting program, MinsterMoney, which all the major Accounting firms are now using. On the down side, they retail at around £200 each. This is great news for your employer as the profit margins are so huge. A Zoombug, taking into account the materials, the manufacture, the marketing and distribution, costs a meagre £20 to produce. Your company sells them to the high street traders for £120 each and then pays royalties to Microsoft, which still leaves a considerable profit.
The thing is, your daughter has a Moonlite Everything Everywhere Computer, but can’t afford the Zoombug upgrade. That’s understandable being as she can’t get a job for love nor money. She tries her best but, despite gaining qualifications in Accounting, there’s nothing out there befitting her ambitions. As a result, she actually gets a £50 per week benefit payment from the government, and they’re threatening to stop that if she doesn’t get something soon. Boy, could she use a Zoombug! It could give her the edge, or at least put her on a level playing field with the rest of the would-be Accountants. If only you could afford one for her, but you can’t. I think you can see where this is going, yes?
Looking at it logically, your company produces thousands of them a day, of which 5% are ‘spoiled’, as your company calls it. Not only that, but records aren’t kept of how many are spoiled and disposed of. Only the ones that make it to the end of the line are recorded.
Secondly, there are searches carried out upon leaving work, however, no one has ever had their underclothes checked. So if one were to conceal a tiny microchip, it would either be in a male’s underpants or a woman’s bra or panties. Another thing is, if rumours are to be believed, there are a number of your colleagues that have nice little side lines in stolen microchips.
Thirdly, the regular Security Officer that carries out the checks if off on the sick and Dopey Dennis is standing in for him. The only thing that Dennis is interested in is being one of the first out of the gates at closing time. And what was it you heard about Dennis the other week? Ah, yes, he withdrew his ebay membership when someone spotted that he was trying to sell two Zoombugs in a three-day auction for £80 each. It seems like you’re the only one not at it!
So what are you going to do? Give your daughter that leg up, or play the straight person and watch her struggle? I suppose you could always save up for one.
You work for a Blue Chip company making components for Microsoft computers; more precisely, a new microchip marketed as a Zoombug for the brand new Moonlite Everything Everywhere Computer. On the up side, the Zoombug is highly sought after being as it takes graphics to a whole new level. And that’s not all, it also supports the very latest MS Office packages by providing graphics for the futuristic accounting program, MinsterMoney, which all the major Accounting firms are now using. On the down side, they retail at around £200 each. This is great news for your employer as the profit margins are so huge. A Zoombug, taking into account the materials, the manufacture, the marketing and distribution, costs a meagre £20 to produce. Your company sells them to the high street traders for £120 each and then pays royalties to Microsoft, which still leaves a considerable profit.
The thing is, your daughter has a Moonlite Everything Everywhere Computer, but can’t afford the Zoombug upgrade. That’s understandable being as she can’t get a job for love nor money. She tries her best but, despite gaining qualifications in Accounting, there’s nothing out there befitting her ambitions. As a result, she actually gets a £50 per week benefit payment from the government, and they’re threatening to stop that if she doesn’t get something soon. Boy, could she use a Zoombug! It could give her the edge, or at least put her on a level playing field with the rest of the would-be Accountants. If only you could afford one for her, but you can’t. I think you can see where this is going, yes?
Looking at it logically, your company produces thousands of them a day, of which 5% are ‘spoiled’, as your company calls it. Not only that, but records aren’t kept of how many are spoiled and disposed of. Only the ones that make it to the end of the line are recorded.
Secondly, there are searches carried out upon leaving work, however, no one has ever had their underclothes checked. So if one were to conceal a tiny microchip, it would either be in a male’s underpants or a woman’s bra or panties. Another thing is, if rumours are to be believed, there are a number of your colleagues that have nice little side lines in stolen microchips.
Thirdly, the regular Security Officer that carries out the checks if off on the sick and Dopey Dennis is standing in for him. The only thing that Dennis is interested in is being one of the first out of the gates at closing time. And what was it you heard about Dennis the other week? Ah, yes, he withdrew his ebay membership when someone spotted that he was trying to sell two Zoombugs in a three-day auction for £80 each. It seems like you’re the only one not at it!
So what are you going to do? Give your daughter that leg up, or play the straight person and watch her struggle? I suppose you could always save up for one.
Cold Turkey
It's Christmas Eve and you're returning home from doing your Christmas shopping when you see the old lady from down the street take a tumble in the snow. Naturally, you hurry to her aid and assist as she gets back to her feet and brushes the snow from her coat. Although a bit shaken up, she doesn't look to be seriously hurt and, in any case, she insists that an Ambulance is not called for. She thanks you for your concern.
Just as you are about to be on your way, she suddenly says, "Let me thank you by making you Christmas dinner. No, I'm sorry, how thoughtless of me. You probably have your own arrangements. I'm sure you'll want to spend Christmas Day with your family. At least let me make you a hot drink, in appreciation of your good deed."
The old lady, whose name is Annie, is so nice, you pop inside her house and she makes you a cup of tea. You stay chatting for a while. You've never really taken the time to speak to her before but, now you have, you find that Annie has lived a life of solitude for such a long time. She tells you all about her beloved husband, Ernie, who passed away two days before Christmas, ten years past; about how, for medical reasons, she and Ernie couldn't have any children and how that broke their hearts. You actually feel quite guilty that you have never stopped and chatted to her before; she is so lovely. Actually, you didn't really have any set plans for Christmas Day. Your family and friends are coming round in the evening and that leaves the rest of the day free. So you accept her kind offer and Annie is thrilled to bits.
"The last Christmas dinner I made for someone other than myself, was for Ernie," she says, "It will be such a pleasure for me to make dinner for you. I take it you're not a vegetarian?"
"No fear of that," you reply, "I can't wait!"
Come Christmas Day, and you pop round to Annie's where she is eagerly awaiting your arrival. She has even gone to the trouble of buying you a small Christmas present, which is wrapped and placed by your plate.
"Please, sit yourself down," she says, and hands you a glass of port and lemon. "You're very good health. Oh, I do hope you aren't tea-total."
You both laugh and, at that moment, you feel that the Christmas spirit is all around and burning brightly.
"Are you warm enough?" she asks, "I don't always have the fire on because I can't afford the rather large bills but, on such a special occasion, I think it would be somewhat rude to watch my guest of honour turning blue."
"I'm fine, Annie, really."
Time moves along and dinnertime is soon upon you. You sit expectantly at the table and Annie arrives with the festive bird complete with a selection of vegetables already assembled on the plate, along with a jug of gravy.
"There we are," she says, beaming with satisfaction, "Tuck in. If there's anything else you require, don't be afraid to ask."
However, all is not as it should be with the festive feast. The roasters could be used as aggregate for a patio foundation, whilst the brussel sprouts have seen less water than a fringe-toed lizard. Not only that, but the gravy is cold and, by far the worst thing of all, is that the turkey is so undercooked, you're thinking of checking for a heartbeat.
So what happens now? The poor woman looks so happy to have invited you into her house and cooked (or at least part cooked) this Christmas dinner for you, and now you're about to throw her hospitality back in her face. On the other hand, if you eat that turkey, there's every chance you won't see next Christmas, and neither will she. It is too much of a risk to eat an uncooked bird. You have to say something, but what? Whilst you're pondering what to do, she disappears into the kitchen and brings out her Christmas dinner... minus the turkey! You stare disbelievingly at her plate, to which she responds by saying, "Unlike you, I AM a vegetarian. Nevertheless, I didn't want to spoil YOUR day and, when you said there was no fear of you being a vegetarian, I felt I just had to go that extra mile to make the day special for you."
Ah, that probably explains why she is still alive after all these years; she's never eaten one of her own turkeys!
Now what do you say? Excuse me, dear, are there any Vets open on Christmas Day? Come to think of it, a Dentist would also come in handy for when these roast spuds chip the enamel off my teeth. I suppose you could always push the stuff around the plate before making up some excuse why you can't eat it. Maybe something along the lines of, I've been up all night with a stomach ache? Hmm, she's never going to swallow that... a bit like you with those vegetables. You've never tried them soaked in turkey blood before, have you?
Don't you think it's better just to tell her the truth and hang the consequences? She's only a frail little thing; she can't cry for ever. Time's running out, she looking at you with that puzzled expression. Well...?
It's Christmas Eve and you're returning home from doing your Christmas shopping when you see the old lady from down the street take a tumble in the snow. Naturally, you hurry to her aid and assist as she gets back to her feet and brushes the snow from her coat. Although a bit shaken up, she doesn't look to be seriously hurt and, in any case, she insists that an Ambulance is not called for. She thanks you for your concern.
Just as you are about to be on your way, she suddenly says, "Let me thank you by making you Christmas dinner. No, I'm sorry, how thoughtless of me. You probably have your own arrangements. I'm sure you'll want to spend Christmas Day with your family. At least let me make you a hot drink, in appreciation of your good deed."
The old lady, whose name is Annie, is so nice, you pop inside her house and she makes you a cup of tea. You stay chatting for a while. You've never really taken the time to speak to her before but, now you have, you find that Annie has lived a life of solitude for such a long time. She tells you all about her beloved husband, Ernie, who passed away two days before Christmas, ten years past; about how, for medical reasons, she and Ernie couldn't have any children and how that broke their hearts. You actually feel quite guilty that you have never stopped and chatted to her before; she is so lovely. Actually, you didn't really have any set plans for Christmas Day. Your family and friends are coming round in the evening and that leaves the rest of the day free. So you accept her kind offer and Annie is thrilled to bits.
"The last Christmas dinner I made for someone other than myself, was for Ernie," she says, "It will be such a pleasure for me to make dinner for you. I take it you're not a vegetarian?"
"No fear of that," you reply, "I can't wait!"
Come Christmas Day, and you pop round to Annie's where she is eagerly awaiting your arrival. She has even gone to the trouble of buying you a small Christmas present, which is wrapped and placed by your plate.
"Please, sit yourself down," she says, and hands you a glass of port and lemon. "You're very good health. Oh, I do hope you aren't tea-total."
You both laugh and, at that moment, you feel that the Christmas spirit is all around and burning brightly.
"Are you warm enough?" she asks, "I don't always have the fire on because I can't afford the rather large bills but, on such a special occasion, I think it would be somewhat rude to watch my guest of honour turning blue."
"I'm fine, Annie, really."
Time moves along and dinnertime is soon upon you. You sit expectantly at the table and Annie arrives with the festive bird complete with a selection of vegetables already assembled on the plate, along with a jug of gravy.
"There we are," she says, beaming with satisfaction, "Tuck in. If there's anything else you require, don't be afraid to ask."
However, all is not as it should be with the festive feast. The roasters could be used as aggregate for a patio foundation, whilst the brussel sprouts have seen less water than a fringe-toed lizard. Not only that, but the gravy is cold and, by far the worst thing of all, is that the turkey is so undercooked, you're thinking of checking for a heartbeat.
So what happens now? The poor woman looks so happy to have invited you into her house and cooked (or at least part cooked) this Christmas dinner for you, and now you're about to throw her hospitality back in her face. On the other hand, if you eat that turkey, there's every chance you won't see next Christmas, and neither will she. It is too much of a risk to eat an uncooked bird. You have to say something, but what? Whilst you're pondering what to do, she disappears into the kitchen and brings out her Christmas dinner... minus the turkey! You stare disbelievingly at her plate, to which she responds by saying, "Unlike you, I AM a vegetarian. Nevertheless, I didn't want to spoil YOUR day and, when you said there was no fear of you being a vegetarian, I felt I just had to go that extra mile to make the day special for you."
Ah, that probably explains why she is still alive after all these years; she's never eaten one of her own turkeys!
Now what do you say? Excuse me, dear, are there any Vets open on Christmas Day? Come to think of it, a Dentist would also come in handy for when these roast spuds chip the enamel off my teeth. I suppose you could always push the stuff around the plate before making up some excuse why you can't eat it. Maybe something along the lines of, I've been up all night with a stomach ache? Hmm, she's never going to swallow that... a bit like you with those vegetables. You've never tried them soaked in turkey blood before, have you?
Don't you think it's better just to tell her the truth and hang the consequences? She's only a frail little thing; she can't cry for ever. Time's running out, she looking at you with that puzzled expression. Well...?
Close encounters of the wife kind
You’re enjoying a drink at a Wine Bar a couple of miles from your usual haunts, being as you and a work colleague had business close by. You’re sat in the corner so that you’re facing the entrance with your colleague facing you and partially hiding you from the new customers that come in. Being as it’s early doors, there aren’t that many people in, so it's easy to spot the new arrivals. Casually glancing about, you see the wife of a very good friend walk in with someone who looks vaguely familiar. Nothing wrong with that, you think to yourself, and you’re about to stick your hand in the air and wave when you see them flirting with each other and acting almost like young lovers. So you decide to hold back with the wave and watch for a while.
That’s where you’ve seen that man… he’s the bloke that lives down the same street as your friend and his wife! After he has bought her a drink, they sit down together and the body language suggests this isn’t the first time they’ve been out together. You explain your odd behaviour (ducking and diving) to your colleague and he asks if you want to discretely leave. But your curiosity won’t allow that, will it? The two continue with their laughing, smiling and, occasionally, petting. This is all a bit upsetting for you because, not only is it the wife of a close friend, but they have two small children as well.
Have you decided what your next move is? You have a mobile phone with a camera, don’t you? After all, if you do decide to grass the little floozy, you’re going to require some hard evidence. You can always decide what to do later, when you are feeling more rational. There is all sorts of things to consider. You’d be destroying an entire family. Ok, so it would be her with the gun, but it’d be you pulling the trigger! Maybe the husband already knows, have you thought of that? It’s probably more common than you think in relationships, in both happy and troubled. Some people will stand the drop of York to hold onto their partners. On the other side of the coin, if you keep schtum and it comes out that you knew about it all along, you can kiss goodbye to your friendship. So, what’s it to be?
You’re enjoying a drink at a Wine Bar a couple of miles from your usual haunts, being as you and a work colleague had business close by. You’re sat in the corner so that you’re facing the entrance with your colleague facing you and partially hiding you from the new customers that come in. Being as it’s early doors, there aren’t that many people in, so it's easy to spot the new arrivals. Casually glancing about, you see the wife of a very good friend walk in with someone who looks vaguely familiar. Nothing wrong with that, you think to yourself, and you’re about to stick your hand in the air and wave when you see them flirting with each other and acting almost like young lovers. So you decide to hold back with the wave and watch for a while.
That’s where you’ve seen that man… he’s the bloke that lives down the same street as your friend and his wife! After he has bought her a drink, they sit down together and the body language suggests this isn’t the first time they’ve been out together. You explain your odd behaviour (ducking and diving) to your colleague and he asks if you want to discretely leave. But your curiosity won’t allow that, will it? The two continue with their laughing, smiling and, occasionally, petting. This is all a bit upsetting for you because, not only is it the wife of a close friend, but they have two small children as well.
Have you decided what your next move is? You have a mobile phone with a camera, don’t you? After all, if you do decide to grass the little floozy, you’re going to require some hard evidence. You can always decide what to do later, when you are feeling more rational. There is all sorts of things to consider. You’d be destroying an entire family. Ok, so it would be her with the gun, but it’d be you pulling the trigger! Maybe the husband already knows, have you thought of that? It’s probably more common than you think in relationships, in both happy and troubled. Some people will stand the drop of York to hold onto their partners. On the other side of the coin, if you keep schtum and it comes out that you knew about it all along, you can kiss goodbye to your friendship. So, what’s it to be?
Pulling Strings
Congratulations! You’ve recently landed a new job. It’s a managerial position with lots of perks and benefits, just what you’ve always dreamed about. Amongst your tasks, you deal with tenders from outside businesses. It’s your job to assess them in the areas relevant to your company’s business practices. For example, you’d look at their method statement to see if they were in line with your Health & Safety policy. You’d research previous work carried out by the companies and, of course, the all important price.
With half-a-dozen jobs under your belt, you come across a job to build an extension. It’s worth quite a lot of money to the successful bidder, so you want to get it right. As you look through them, your research uncovers something that surprises you. One of the three builders that have tendered is owned by your best friend’s son. You remember your friend telling you he was starting up in business but was struggling to get work because he didn’t have much of a portfolio; not because he wasn’t capable, but because he hadn’t been going for very long. Personally, you knew your friend's son to be a nice, polite chap that always seemed keen to help people. Actually, now you come to think about it, you do remember your friend saying that his son had submitted a quote to a big company. What’s more, your friend said his son's business may have to close after only six months if he couldn’t find the work to get him started.
So there you are, sat at your desk with three quotes in front of you, despite the deadline for them to be in is still a week away. Looking at them, they all seem to be competent and cover most of the important things you would normally take into account. It just comes down to price, and your friend’s son seems to have lost that race by a short head. The budget you have is £25,000. Pointer Pete has quoted £24,600. Bricker Billy has quoted £23,800. And your friend’s son, Sandstone Sam, has quoted £24,200.
The way I see it, you are faced with a rather tricky decision. You can give it to Bricker Billy because he is the cheapest, and that’s what you would have done anyway; you can try an influence your bosses to pick Sam, but in a surreptitious manner, which is obviously fraught with danger; or you could slip Sandstone Sam’s tender into your pocket, take it back to your friend, and suggest that a quote of slightly less than £23,800 might be more appropriate.
What’s to consider? You know from previous experience that Bricker Billy has builder’s vans driving about all over the place, so he must have quite a bit of work on. His resume tells you that he was the one chosen to do the flats in town, and that was a five year contract that still has three years of work left to run. Sam, on the other hand, has a wife and new-born baby to support and no work coming in. If his business does go down the pan, it’ll be you who helped shuffle the cards of fate. Come on, who’s likely to find out?
On the down side, if, for some ridiculously remote reason, someone did make the link, not only could you lose your job, but there’s a law against bid-rigging. Apparently, it’s against Competition Law and is a form of fraud. Have you ever heard of The Office of Fair Trading (OFT)? In the United Kingdom, individuals can be prosecuted criminally under the Enterprise Act 2002.
But, as I say, who’s going to find out? If you dwell on it too long, you’re sure to become paranoid and end up in a right old state. Go on, look upon it as a good deed. Well, what are you waiting for?
Congratulations! You’ve recently landed a new job. It’s a managerial position with lots of perks and benefits, just what you’ve always dreamed about. Amongst your tasks, you deal with tenders from outside businesses. It’s your job to assess them in the areas relevant to your company’s business practices. For example, you’d look at their method statement to see if they were in line with your Health & Safety policy. You’d research previous work carried out by the companies and, of course, the all important price.
With half-a-dozen jobs under your belt, you come across a job to build an extension. It’s worth quite a lot of money to the successful bidder, so you want to get it right. As you look through them, your research uncovers something that surprises you. One of the three builders that have tendered is owned by your best friend’s son. You remember your friend telling you he was starting up in business but was struggling to get work because he didn’t have much of a portfolio; not because he wasn’t capable, but because he hadn’t been going for very long. Personally, you knew your friend's son to be a nice, polite chap that always seemed keen to help people. Actually, now you come to think about it, you do remember your friend saying that his son had submitted a quote to a big company. What’s more, your friend said his son's business may have to close after only six months if he couldn’t find the work to get him started.
So there you are, sat at your desk with three quotes in front of you, despite the deadline for them to be in is still a week away. Looking at them, they all seem to be competent and cover most of the important things you would normally take into account. It just comes down to price, and your friend’s son seems to have lost that race by a short head. The budget you have is £25,000. Pointer Pete has quoted £24,600. Bricker Billy has quoted £23,800. And your friend’s son, Sandstone Sam, has quoted £24,200.
The way I see it, you are faced with a rather tricky decision. You can give it to Bricker Billy because he is the cheapest, and that’s what you would have done anyway; you can try an influence your bosses to pick Sam, but in a surreptitious manner, which is obviously fraught with danger; or you could slip Sandstone Sam’s tender into your pocket, take it back to your friend, and suggest that a quote of slightly less than £23,800 might be more appropriate.
What’s to consider? You know from previous experience that Bricker Billy has builder’s vans driving about all over the place, so he must have quite a bit of work on. His resume tells you that he was the one chosen to do the flats in town, and that was a five year contract that still has three years of work left to run. Sam, on the other hand, has a wife and new-born baby to support and no work coming in. If his business does go down the pan, it’ll be you who helped shuffle the cards of fate. Come on, who’s likely to find out?
On the down side, if, for some ridiculously remote reason, someone did make the link, not only could you lose your job, but there’s a law against bid-rigging. Apparently, it’s against Competition Law and is a form of fraud. Have you ever heard of The Office of Fair Trading (OFT)? In the United Kingdom, individuals can be prosecuted criminally under the Enterprise Act 2002.
But, as I say, who’s going to find out? If you dwell on it too long, you’re sure to become paranoid and end up in a right old state. Go on, look upon it as a good deed. Well, what are you waiting for?
Canine Terrorist
You're driving to work, or wherever it is you drive to, when you glance down a side road you are driving past. As you were going slowly anyway, you decide to reverse back and take a better look. To your horror, you see what you thought you saw in the first place, and now you can hear the events unfolding too. Backed up against a wall is a child of around 8 or 9 years old. She is absolutely terrified, and who wouldn't be, there's a particularly vicious looking dog snarling and barking at her. Without hesitation, you turn down the street and drive towards them; you even sound your horn, but it isn't enough to deter the dog from its relentless threatening behaviour towards the girl, who is sobbing her little heart out and fearing for her life. Although you're not an expert in dog breeds, you’re pretty sure it’s from the genus ‘Carnivorous Beelzebub’. Of course, this isn't the time to start surfing your mobile for banned dog breeds. This is the moment you have to make a decision, and quick!
Let’s look at your options, shall we? For a start, you're in the perfect deterrent; a killing machine, if you will. You can, either drive slowly towards the dog and hope to God it doesn't send it into an eating frenzy because, if it does, your second option is out of the window. If it grabs the little girl, you're not going to be able to plough it down, being as it will be attached to her. So do you just go for it? Hopefully, it would become a rubber and pavement sandwich and die instantly. Failing that, if, for argument’s sake, you were only able to detach a leg or partially maim it, you might find yourself in the position of having to reverse over it to put it out of its misery. On the ‘not so clever’ side, you're going to have to hope the owner doesn't show up, as he's almost certain to be a tattooed thug who's as partial to blood as he is drugs. Even if he doesn't show up, the blood bath will mentally scar the little girl for the rest of her life. Mind you, the dog may already have done that anyway.
After the dog's demise, you will surely have to escort the little girl back to her house and explain to the parents what has happened. You will also, or at least you should, inform the Police of what's taken place; unless you just kill the dog and drive off. But you can't do that... can you?! One thing's for sure, you must disable the dog before it makes a meal out of that child; you can decide the rest later. Thinking about it, short of getting out of the car yourself (big mistake!) there is one other solution. You could always try and drive towards the dog slowly and nudge it out of the way, whilst encouraging the girl to get into your car. Of course, then you’d be taking the risk of antagonising the dog and sending into attack mode. Still, I suppose if you explain to the girl’s parents how the dog came to have her face in its mouth, I’m sure they’d understand why you put the dog’s welfare ahead of hers... NOT!!! Well? The window of opportunity gets narrower with each passing second!
You're driving to work, or wherever it is you drive to, when you glance down a side road you are driving past. As you were going slowly anyway, you decide to reverse back and take a better look. To your horror, you see what you thought you saw in the first place, and now you can hear the events unfolding too. Backed up against a wall is a child of around 8 or 9 years old. She is absolutely terrified, and who wouldn't be, there's a particularly vicious looking dog snarling and barking at her. Without hesitation, you turn down the street and drive towards them; you even sound your horn, but it isn't enough to deter the dog from its relentless threatening behaviour towards the girl, who is sobbing her little heart out and fearing for her life. Although you're not an expert in dog breeds, you’re pretty sure it’s from the genus ‘Carnivorous Beelzebub’. Of course, this isn't the time to start surfing your mobile for banned dog breeds. This is the moment you have to make a decision, and quick!
Let’s look at your options, shall we? For a start, you're in the perfect deterrent; a killing machine, if you will. You can, either drive slowly towards the dog and hope to God it doesn't send it into an eating frenzy because, if it does, your second option is out of the window. If it grabs the little girl, you're not going to be able to plough it down, being as it will be attached to her. So do you just go for it? Hopefully, it would become a rubber and pavement sandwich and die instantly. Failing that, if, for argument’s sake, you were only able to detach a leg or partially maim it, you might find yourself in the position of having to reverse over it to put it out of its misery. On the ‘not so clever’ side, you're going to have to hope the owner doesn't show up, as he's almost certain to be a tattooed thug who's as partial to blood as he is drugs. Even if he doesn't show up, the blood bath will mentally scar the little girl for the rest of her life. Mind you, the dog may already have done that anyway.
After the dog's demise, you will surely have to escort the little girl back to her house and explain to the parents what has happened. You will also, or at least you should, inform the Police of what's taken place; unless you just kill the dog and drive off. But you can't do that... can you?! One thing's for sure, you must disable the dog before it makes a meal out of that child; you can decide the rest later. Thinking about it, short of getting out of the car yourself (big mistake!) there is one other solution. You could always try and drive towards the dog slowly and nudge it out of the way, whilst encouraging the girl to get into your car. Of course, then you’d be taking the risk of antagonising the dog and sending into attack mode. Still, I suppose if you explain to the girl’s parents how the dog came to have her face in its mouth, I’m sure they’d understand why you put the dog’s welfare ahead of hers... NOT!!! Well? The window of opportunity gets narrower with each passing second!
Black Christmas
It’s just before Christmas and the unthinkable has happened. Your husband has been knocked down by a drunk driver and is lying in a hospital bed on life support. Your child was with you earlier and it broke your heart to see the little chap sobbing for his daddy. You can’t imagine how he will cope when Christmas day comes and, who knows, his daddy may well be dead. When his grandparents take your son home, you see them off and return to be by your husband’s side. It seems strangely quiet in the hospital. There doesn’t appear to be anyone around, which is, in itself, unusual. Nevertheless, you go to your husband’s isolation ward and open the door.
To your utter disbelief, there, by his side, is the Grim Reaper. Don’t ask me how you know, being as you thought he was fictional, but you just do. The sound of the heart monitor flatlining numbs your head, and you are frozen to the spot as the Grim Reaper tilts his head towards you. His skeletal face is partially hidden in the shadow of his cloak.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he says, “Your husband’s time is at hand.”
You stand there open-mouthed as he seems to pause for thought. He then reaches up to the clock on the wall and, with his bony finger, pushes the minute hand back seven minutes. The heart monitor begins its rhythm again.
“Come with me,” he says, as you feel yourself floating upwards and out of the hospital. Walls are no boundary. Within moments, you are in another hospital ward standing next to a man of around sixty-five years old. He has a woman sat at his side and a child is holding his hand.
“Don’t worry,” says the Reaper, “they can’t see or hear you.”
“Is Grandad still coming for Christmas dinner?” asks the child.
“You know what,” says his mother, “I think he is. The Doctor says he’s doing just fine.”
“I love you Grandad,” says the boy.
You look at the Reaper.
“Who is he?” you ask?
“That isn’t important,” the Reaper replies. “You only need know that he has eight years, four months, four days, and six hours left to live. At the end of that time, I will come for him. I’m afraid I can’t tell you what he will die of or if he will suffer. I can only tell you that he will die at the end of that time.”
“So why are you showing me this?”
“Because you have seen me, I am obliged to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
“If you give me your solemn promise that you will never tell a soul of our meeting, I shall exchange your husband’s life cycle for that of the man you see before you. In essence, your husband will make a full recovery and live for another eight years, four months, four days, and six hours.”
“And what about the man who lies there before me?”
“I shall take him instead.”
“So what if I accept your offer, and then tell someone of our meeting.”
“Then I shall visit you and exchange your life cycle with that of someone with only one day left to live.”
“And if I refuse your offer; will I still remember this moment and our meeting?”
“Yes, you will still remember, and especially the decision you make; but if you tell anyone of our meeting, who is going to believe you?”
The Reaper looks up at the clock. “You have four minutes left to decide. That’s when the clock will return to the time you first saw me and your husband took his last breath.”
You look at the child’s face. He is holding his Grandad’s hand and smiling. The man’s daughter is stroking her son’s head and she too seems happy. Suddenly, a mist engulfs the room and, when it clears, you are back in the room with your husband. You have two minutes left to decide his fate.
“Well?” says the Reaper, “Who shall I take?”
Whilst you make your decision, I have another question for you. If your solution is to leave things as they are, even if that does mean enduring the heartache of losing your husband and depriving your son of his father, would it have made any difference if the chap lying in the other hospital bed hadn't also have been a loving father and grandad? If, instead of having his daughter and grandchild by his side, it'd have been a bottle of Meths and and a syringe, as he lay in the gutter stinking of urine and vomit?
What's the matter, having second thoughts? Well don't; I just wanted to know if your decision was based on the emotion-fuelled moment, or your respect for individual life in general.
It’s just before Christmas and the unthinkable has happened. Your husband has been knocked down by a drunk driver and is lying in a hospital bed on life support. Your child was with you earlier and it broke your heart to see the little chap sobbing for his daddy. You can’t imagine how he will cope when Christmas day comes and, who knows, his daddy may well be dead. When his grandparents take your son home, you see them off and return to be by your husband’s side. It seems strangely quiet in the hospital. There doesn’t appear to be anyone around, which is, in itself, unusual. Nevertheless, you go to your husband’s isolation ward and open the door.
To your utter disbelief, there, by his side, is the Grim Reaper. Don’t ask me how you know, being as you thought he was fictional, but you just do. The sound of the heart monitor flatlining numbs your head, and you are frozen to the spot as the Grim Reaper tilts his head towards you. His skeletal face is partially hidden in the shadow of his cloak.
“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he says, “Your husband’s time is at hand.”
You stand there open-mouthed as he seems to pause for thought. He then reaches up to the clock on the wall and, with his bony finger, pushes the minute hand back seven minutes. The heart monitor begins its rhythm again.
“Come with me,” he says, as you feel yourself floating upwards and out of the hospital. Walls are no boundary. Within moments, you are in another hospital ward standing next to a man of around sixty-five years old. He has a woman sat at his side and a child is holding his hand.
“Don’t worry,” says the Reaper, “they can’t see or hear you.”
“Is Grandad still coming for Christmas dinner?” asks the child.
“You know what,” says his mother, “I think he is. The Doctor says he’s doing just fine.”
“I love you Grandad,” says the boy.
You look at the Reaper.
“Who is he?” you ask?
“That isn’t important,” the Reaper replies. “You only need know that he has eight years, four months, four days, and six hours left to live. At the end of that time, I will come for him. I’m afraid I can’t tell you what he will die of or if he will suffer. I can only tell you that he will die at the end of that time.”
“So why are you showing me this?”
“Because you have seen me, I am obliged to make you an offer.”
“What kind of offer?”
“If you give me your solemn promise that you will never tell a soul of our meeting, I shall exchange your husband’s life cycle for that of the man you see before you. In essence, your husband will make a full recovery and live for another eight years, four months, four days, and six hours.”
“And what about the man who lies there before me?”
“I shall take him instead.”
“So what if I accept your offer, and then tell someone of our meeting.”
“Then I shall visit you and exchange your life cycle with that of someone with only one day left to live.”
“And if I refuse your offer; will I still remember this moment and our meeting?”
“Yes, you will still remember, and especially the decision you make; but if you tell anyone of our meeting, who is going to believe you?”
The Reaper looks up at the clock. “You have four minutes left to decide. That’s when the clock will return to the time you first saw me and your husband took his last breath.”
You look at the child’s face. He is holding his Grandad’s hand and smiling. The man’s daughter is stroking her son’s head and she too seems happy. Suddenly, a mist engulfs the room and, when it clears, you are back in the room with your husband. You have two minutes left to decide his fate.
“Well?” says the Reaper, “Who shall I take?”
Whilst you make your decision, I have another question for you. If your solution is to leave things as they are, even if that does mean enduring the heartache of losing your husband and depriving your son of his father, would it have made any difference if the chap lying in the other hospital bed hadn't also have been a loving father and grandad? If, instead of having his daughter and grandchild by his side, it'd have been a bottle of Meths and and a syringe, as he lay in the gutter stinking of urine and vomit?
What's the matter, having second thoughts? Well don't; I just wanted to know if your decision was based on the emotion-fuelled moment, or your respect for individual life in general.
Diamonds are Forever
Your best female friend in the whole wide world, let’s call her Saffy, has had a hard life; in fact, much harder than most. Saffy began life as an orphan after both her parents died of cancer. Her foster parents split up and her foster mother’s new partner sexually abused her. When she told her foster mother what he’d been doing, the remains of her family fell apart and she ran away from home. At 18 years old, she found herself on the streets; she was taking illegal drugs, and had been convicted of both shoplifting and soliciting.
But then things took a dramatic turn for the better. Saffy was literally picked up out of the gutter by a homeless charity who nurtured her back to health. They gave her back her self-respect and guided her back on the road to independence. A couple of years later and she had moved into the rented property next door to your house. Eventually, you got chatting and, before you knew it, a good solid bond had formed.
Whilst Saffy has moved on from those days of despair, you know the scars remain, but she has a new life now, something to look forward to. And the story gets even better as she has now settled down with a really nice chap and they even have a little daughter of their own to love and cherish. Meanwhile, you and that girl from next door have become more like sisters than friends. There doesn’t appear to be anything she wouldn’t share with you.
Of course, like all real life fairytales, there’s always something around the corner ready to pee on your bonfire. In this case, Saffy has found a lump that turns out to be a malignant form of cancer. Her life has become threatened, and all you can see is the flower that you have witnessed blooming over the past decade or so, now wilting before your very eyes.
This is where your dilemma comes in. The elderly gentleman across the street, whom you get on famously with, calls you over for a cup of tea. There’s nothing unusual in that. However, you get chatting and he tells you that he bought a ring from a bloke down the pub. Not that he needed a ring, but it seemed such a bargain, he didn’t want to pass up on it. It’s quite a distinctive ring and is fully hallmarked. It also looks brand new. With a large sapphire surrounded by diamonds, which your friend says are real, and he would know being as he was a Jeweller himself many years ago, it has to be worth in excess of £2,000. As he is now faced with a rather large gas bill, he is happy to sell it to you for the same price as he paid for it... £200. It’s a bargain too good to pass up.
Then you remember a story that Saffy told you, about her mother and father who died prematurely. She said that her mother, on her death bed, said she had named her Saffy, because her eyes reminded her of sapphires. She also said that she had always intended to buy her daughter a sapphire ring, but was never able to afford it.
With that in mind, here YOU are with the opportunity to buy your dearest friend the perfect gift. It would be the ring her mother always wanted to buy her and, therefore, would have so much meaning attached to it. So that’s what you do; you buy her the ring and present it to her. Saffy is absolutely thrilled. It’s been so long since you saw that sparkle in her eyes. For that brief time, the threat of cancer disappeared and you felt so good about yourself. Saffy says she will cherish the ring until the day she dies and swears never to take it off. Unfortunately, that day may not be far away as Saffy has been given the news that the cancer has spread and she has, in all probability, between 6 and 12 months left to live.
A couple of weeks after you gave her the ring, there’s a news report on television. That distinctive ring was part of a collection stolen from a Jewellers shop around 250 miles away. During the raid, the owner lost his little finger, though the Police haven’t said how. What they have said is that he suffered extreme mental trauma and has decided to give up his business and retire early due to his fear of a reoccurrence. You are obviously shocked and appalled, yet you do nothing straight away. Three days later and the Police report a massive response to their appeal. In fact, over 80% of the stolen jewellery has since been recovered and four men have been arrested and charged with burglary, one with burglary and Grievous Bodily Harm.
I take it you have already identified your dilemma? If you do the ‘right thing’ and go to the Police, your best friend in the whole wide world, Saffy, won’t have to take the ring off as it will be removed from her by the Police. With little time left to live, do you have the heart to see that happen? The poor woman will be questioned by the Police, as you will, and your elderly neighbour. And what will come out of it all... nothing! They’ve already recovered most of the loot and some is bound to be lost forever. It appears they have also got the thugs that carried out the robbery. There will be court appearances to attend and, the elderly gentleman across the road will have to give details of the man he bought the ring from. If it does turn out to be one of the gang members, his associates may want to introduce him to a little witness intimidation. And let’s face it, if your suspicions regarding the shop owner are correct, the term ‘finger him’ may take on a new meaning.
It's also worth considering that the distinctive ring you bought was not referred to in the Police report, so there is the chance that it was unrelated to the burglary. Of course, it would be so easy to check. As for the neighbour, all he said was that the person he bought it from would not say where it originally came from. The mysterious stranger just said, "Ask no questions and I’ll tell no lies."
To summarise, Saffy kisses goodbye to her ring, you kiss goodbye to your £200, and your elderly neighbour could end up kissing goodbye to one of his pinkies. Let’s face it, if you hadn’t have been in front of the television when you were, you would be none the wiser. It seems to me like owning up doesn’t actually have anything going for it, other than perhaps being a platform for you to massage your holier than thou principles. Well, are you going to pick up that phone then, or what?
Your best female friend in the whole wide world, let’s call her Saffy, has had a hard life; in fact, much harder than most. Saffy began life as an orphan after both her parents died of cancer. Her foster parents split up and her foster mother’s new partner sexually abused her. When she told her foster mother what he’d been doing, the remains of her family fell apart and she ran away from home. At 18 years old, she found herself on the streets; she was taking illegal drugs, and had been convicted of both shoplifting and soliciting.
But then things took a dramatic turn for the better. Saffy was literally picked up out of the gutter by a homeless charity who nurtured her back to health. They gave her back her self-respect and guided her back on the road to independence. A couple of years later and she had moved into the rented property next door to your house. Eventually, you got chatting and, before you knew it, a good solid bond had formed.
Whilst Saffy has moved on from those days of despair, you know the scars remain, but she has a new life now, something to look forward to. And the story gets even better as she has now settled down with a really nice chap and they even have a little daughter of their own to love and cherish. Meanwhile, you and that girl from next door have become more like sisters than friends. There doesn’t appear to be anything she wouldn’t share with you.
Of course, like all real life fairytales, there’s always something around the corner ready to pee on your bonfire. In this case, Saffy has found a lump that turns out to be a malignant form of cancer. Her life has become threatened, and all you can see is the flower that you have witnessed blooming over the past decade or so, now wilting before your very eyes.
This is where your dilemma comes in. The elderly gentleman across the street, whom you get on famously with, calls you over for a cup of tea. There’s nothing unusual in that. However, you get chatting and he tells you that he bought a ring from a bloke down the pub. Not that he needed a ring, but it seemed such a bargain, he didn’t want to pass up on it. It’s quite a distinctive ring and is fully hallmarked. It also looks brand new. With a large sapphire surrounded by diamonds, which your friend says are real, and he would know being as he was a Jeweller himself many years ago, it has to be worth in excess of £2,000. As he is now faced with a rather large gas bill, he is happy to sell it to you for the same price as he paid for it... £200. It’s a bargain too good to pass up.
Then you remember a story that Saffy told you, about her mother and father who died prematurely. She said that her mother, on her death bed, said she had named her Saffy, because her eyes reminded her of sapphires. She also said that she had always intended to buy her daughter a sapphire ring, but was never able to afford it.
With that in mind, here YOU are with the opportunity to buy your dearest friend the perfect gift. It would be the ring her mother always wanted to buy her and, therefore, would have so much meaning attached to it. So that’s what you do; you buy her the ring and present it to her. Saffy is absolutely thrilled. It’s been so long since you saw that sparkle in her eyes. For that brief time, the threat of cancer disappeared and you felt so good about yourself. Saffy says she will cherish the ring until the day she dies and swears never to take it off. Unfortunately, that day may not be far away as Saffy has been given the news that the cancer has spread and she has, in all probability, between 6 and 12 months left to live.
A couple of weeks after you gave her the ring, there’s a news report on television. That distinctive ring was part of a collection stolen from a Jewellers shop around 250 miles away. During the raid, the owner lost his little finger, though the Police haven’t said how. What they have said is that he suffered extreme mental trauma and has decided to give up his business and retire early due to his fear of a reoccurrence. You are obviously shocked and appalled, yet you do nothing straight away. Three days later and the Police report a massive response to their appeal. In fact, over 80% of the stolen jewellery has since been recovered and four men have been arrested and charged with burglary, one with burglary and Grievous Bodily Harm.
I take it you have already identified your dilemma? If you do the ‘right thing’ and go to the Police, your best friend in the whole wide world, Saffy, won’t have to take the ring off as it will be removed from her by the Police. With little time left to live, do you have the heart to see that happen? The poor woman will be questioned by the Police, as you will, and your elderly neighbour. And what will come out of it all... nothing! They’ve already recovered most of the loot and some is bound to be lost forever. It appears they have also got the thugs that carried out the robbery. There will be court appearances to attend and, the elderly gentleman across the road will have to give details of the man he bought the ring from. If it does turn out to be one of the gang members, his associates may want to introduce him to a little witness intimidation. And let’s face it, if your suspicions regarding the shop owner are correct, the term ‘finger him’ may take on a new meaning.
It's also worth considering that the distinctive ring you bought was not referred to in the Police report, so there is the chance that it was unrelated to the burglary. Of course, it would be so easy to check. As for the neighbour, all he said was that the person he bought it from would not say where it originally came from. The mysterious stranger just said, "Ask no questions and I’ll tell no lies."
To summarise, Saffy kisses goodbye to her ring, you kiss goodbye to your £200, and your elderly neighbour could end up kissing goodbye to one of his pinkies. Let’s face it, if you hadn’t have been in front of the television when you were, you would be none the wiser. It seems to me like owning up doesn’t actually have anything going for it, other than perhaps being a platform for you to massage your holier than thou principles. Well, are you going to pick up that phone then, or what?
Second Chances
You find yourself in a nice, steady relationship with someone that's kind, considerate and, what's more, really cares about you. Everything is going along just peachy when, you hear on the news that your ex has just won £4,000,000 on the lotto. But that's ok, because your ex was a nice person. You had some good times together and, when the love ran out, you parted as good friends.
Then one day, completely out of the blue, your ex phones you. "I know things didn't work out between us," says your ex, "and maybe you were right, we did fall out of love. But I always felt we had more to give, which is why I want to propose something to you. I will give you £1,000,000 if you come back to me and give us another try for just one month. Yes, I know it means you will have to climb into bed next to your ex, but we'll only make love if you really want to. If, at the end of our month together, you still feel we weren't right for one another, you can walk away from the relationship and keep the £1,000,000. There'll be no recriminations, no bad feelings, and I will have my answer."
Well, that's quite a dilemma! Will you accept your ex's invitation? Will you tell your present partner? I suppose you could always say that you'd had to go away for a month and not say anything to anyone, but then how will you explain where the £1,000,000 came from? Basically, you could be selling your chance of happiness for a million. Then again, there's no guarantee that your present relationship will last the distance either.
When you've decided which way the penny will fall, try putting the boot on the other foot. What say it was your partner had the offer from an ex? Would you be happy to see them hopping into bed with their ex and playing happy families on the strength that things might not last and you could soon be living the good life?
You find yourself in a nice, steady relationship with someone that's kind, considerate and, what's more, really cares about you. Everything is going along just peachy when, you hear on the news that your ex has just won £4,000,000 on the lotto. But that's ok, because your ex was a nice person. You had some good times together and, when the love ran out, you parted as good friends.
Then one day, completely out of the blue, your ex phones you. "I know things didn't work out between us," says your ex, "and maybe you were right, we did fall out of love. But I always felt we had more to give, which is why I want to propose something to you. I will give you £1,000,000 if you come back to me and give us another try for just one month. Yes, I know it means you will have to climb into bed next to your ex, but we'll only make love if you really want to. If, at the end of our month together, you still feel we weren't right for one another, you can walk away from the relationship and keep the £1,000,000. There'll be no recriminations, no bad feelings, and I will have my answer."
Well, that's quite a dilemma! Will you accept your ex's invitation? Will you tell your present partner? I suppose you could always say that you'd had to go away for a month and not say anything to anyone, but then how will you explain where the £1,000,000 came from? Basically, you could be selling your chance of happiness for a million. Then again, there's no guarantee that your present relationship will last the distance either.
When you've decided which way the penny will fall, try putting the boot on the other foot. What say it was your partner had the offer from an ex? Would you be happy to see them hopping into bed with their ex and playing happy families on the strength that things might not last and you could soon be living the good life?
Where there’s muck...
You’re taking a leisurely country walk when you meet up with a former work colleague, also out for a stroll. Now in her seventies, she explains that the company where you both worked together for a number of years, kept her on past retirement age. However, in just one month’s time, she is finally calling it a day and going to live by the sea. In fairness, you weren’t exactly bosom buddies, but you always got on with her ok, and it was quite nice to catch up again after not seeing her since you left some six years ago.
As you’re walking along, she bends down and picks something up. After squinting at the object, she hands it to you and asks if you can tell what it is. The object is very old and requires the removal of several layers of dirt. To your astonishment, it looks like four gold-coloured coins stuck together with baked on mud. Further examination suggests that they could possibly be extremely rare Henry V gold nobles, the likes of which you vaguely recall having seen on the Antiques Roadshow a few years back. Of course, if your theory is correct, you could be holding over £20,000 worth of gold coins in your sticky little hands; what could you do with that?!
Before you have time to respond, the elderly lady suggests that it might be a brass button from a Fireman’s tunic. “My grandson is a Fireman,” she says, “He’d love a button like that, anything to do with the Fire Service.”
What now? Are you really going to be devious enough to suggest that you clean it up for her? Lo and behold, before you get the chance, she opens the door of opportunity. “Would you be able to clean it up for me?” she asks, and, surprise, surprise, you agree. “You could drop it into work for me, if that’s not too much of an imposition?”
So, having taken the coins home, cleaned them up, and done a little research, you find that they are indeed gold Nobles. This presents you with a number of dilemmas. Firstly, do you take them to the old lady and tell her the truth; or do you buy a brass tunic button from ebay and hand her that. She’d certainly be pleased with the button, and no one would be any the wiser. Or you could just not go and see her at all. She’ll be so preoccupied with her retirement that she’ll probably forget all about the find. Not only that but, from what you remember, she has a mind like a sieve. She often forgot what day it was. Considering she already has a few bob stashed away and is planning her retirement by the sea, the chances are you will never have to lay eyes on her again.
Then there’s the problem of telling the authorities where you found the coins, what with the treasure trove laws and all that. Do you revisit the site where they were found before telling the authorities, or do you buy a metal detector and try and talk the owner of the land into letting you search for treasure on the understanding that you split the spoils? Obviously, you wouldn’t tell him about the old lady’s find or he’d buy a metal detector himself. I suppose the only problem with the metal detector theory is that you don’t manage to find anything else and then, all of a sudden, you’re on the news with the coins; the farmer will be convinced that you’re trying to swindle him out of half the proceeds. So if you didn’t find them there, where were they discovered? Have you thought of selling them without informing the authorities?
Typical; there’s me jumping ahead of myself again. Maybe you’ve already decided to tell the old lady the truth; after all; it’s only £20,000 with the possibility of more to come!
You’re taking a leisurely country walk when you meet up with a former work colleague, also out for a stroll. Now in her seventies, she explains that the company where you both worked together for a number of years, kept her on past retirement age. However, in just one month’s time, she is finally calling it a day and going to live by the sea. In fairness, you weren’t exactly bosom buddies, but you always got on with her ok, and it was quite nice to catch up again after not seeing her since you left some six years ago.
As you’re walking along, she bends down and picks something up. After squinting at the object, she hands it to you and asks if you can tell what it is. The object is very old and requires the removal of several layers of dirt. To your astonishment, it looks like four gold-coloured coins stuck together with baked on mud. Further examination suggests that they could possibly be extremely rare Henry V gold nobles, the likes of which you vaguely recall having seen on the Antiques Roadshow a few years back. Of course, if your theory is correct, you could be holding over £20,000 worth of gold coins in your sticky little hands; what could you do with that?!
Before you have time to respond, the elderly lady suggests that it might be a brass button from a Fireman’s tunic. “My grandson is a Fireman,” she says, “He’d love a button like that, anything to do with the Fire Service.”
What now? Are you really going to be devious enough to suggest that you clean it up for her? Lo and behold, before you get the chance, she opens the door of opportunity. “Would you be able to clean it up for me?” she asks, and, surprise, surprise, you agree. “You could drop it into work for me, if that’s not too much of an imposition?”
So, having taken the coins home, cleaned them up, and done a little research, you find that they are indeed gold Nobles. This presents you with a number of dilemmas. Firstly, do you take them to the old lady and tell her the truth; or do you buy a brass tunic button from ebay and hand her that. She’d certainly be pleased with the button, and no one would be any the wiser. Or you could just not go and see her at all. She’ll be so preoccupied with her retirement that she’ll probably forget all about the find. Not only that but, from what you remember, she has a mind like a sieve. She often forgot what day it was. Considering she already has a few bob stashed away and is planning her retirement by the sea, the chances are you will never have to lay eyes on her again.
Then there’s the problem of telling the authorities where you found the coins, what with the treasure trove laws and all that. Do you revisit the site where they were found before telling the authorities, or do you buy a metal detector and try and talk the owner of the land into letting you search for treasure on the understanding that you split the spoils? Obviously, you wouldn’t tell him about the old lady’s find or he’d buy a metal detector himself. I suppose the only problem with the metal detector theory is that you don’t manage to find anything else and then, all of a sudden, you’re on the news with the coins; the farmer will be convinced that you’re trying to swindle him out of half the proceeds. So if you didn’t find them there, where were they discovered? Have you thought of selling them without informing the authorities?
Typical; there’s me jumping ahead of myself again. Maybe you’ve already decided to tell the old lady the truth; after all; it’s only £20,000 with the possibility of more to come!
Aunt Eek!
So you know a bit about antiques. You watch all the antique programs on TV and you enjoy a browse around antique fairs and car boot sales looking for that little gem that's going make you rich... who doesn't?
One day, you're chatting away with an elderly lady that you haven't known for all that long. Your budding friendship was little more than the result of a chance meeting but, there you are, enjoying her hospitality as she makes you a cup of tea and offers you a homemade bun; all very cosy, isn’t it?
And there you sit, happily chatting away in her front room; she glad of the company, you feeling you're doing your bit for the elderly. She explains that she has no family left, her husband passed away a few years back and she was left in the old house with just a Social Worker popping in to see her about as frequently as the sightings of Halley's Comet.
"It won't be long before they ship me off to a Care Home," she explains, "I'm becoming more forgetful as each day passes and, if truth be told, I’m no longer the gazelle I used to be. These days, I reckon I resemble an arthritic sloth more than I do a spritely gazelle. No, I am aware that my days of independence are numbered; there's no real point in denying it any longer."
After twenty minutes or so the conversation gets round to clearing out her contents in readiness for the move to a Care Home. "I have so much junk here; God only knows what I'll do with it all. Just look at this mess," she says, dragging a box from under the cupboard, "This has been lying here untouched since my dear old Albert passed away."
With the invitation to look, you push and prod at the contents and immediately lay your eyes on a rather old looking velvet box. The velvet is badly worn, yet compels you to investigate further. Slowly, you prise open the lid and peer inside. To your absolute amazement, hidden away is the most stunning brooch you have ever seen. Art Nouveau in style, its enamelled design is of an elegant woman and her dog in the countryside. The gold surround leads down to an array of gorgeous gem stones.
Additionally, inside the box, is an envelope containing a threadbare letter dated 1894. Although it is written in French, the recipient’s name, Sarah Bernhardt, is unmistakable, as is the name of the sender on the letter inside, Rene. You are convinced that this is a letter from the renowned French designer, Rene Lalique, to Sarah Bernhardt; how exciting! To research this would be any antique experts dream. If it's what you think it is, it would be worth a small fortune.
The old lady sees you eyeing the piece. "I can see you've taken a fancy to that old brooch," she says, "It was given to me by Albert's mother. She was always giving away her costume jewellery. I don't think I ever even got round to wearing it. I guess it'll end up in the charity shop with all the other bits and bobs; unless, of course, you want to make me an offer? The local Vicar calls round from time to time, I'm sure he'd be delighted to receive a small donation for the Church roof; all contributions gratefully accepted," she chuckles.
Now what?! The chances are that brooch, along with all the other undiscovered treasures, might possibly end up on a dusty, charity shop shelf, where some greedy little chancer will pick up a proper bargain and flog it on ebay for a ridiculous amount of money. Hey! You deserve that money as much as he or she does; ain't that a fact?!
Let's face it, the old lady won't benefit from the proceeds being as, if she does end up in a Care Home, her shopping days are over. If you look at it like that, it's not like you're robbing her, is it? The local Council will soak up any disposable income she has. Based on that theory, you're more likely to be robbing the Council than her.
So come on, what are you dithering at? Make her that offer and slip the brooch into your pocket before the money-grabbing Vicar shows up and pulls the rug out from under your feet. No one need ever know. £5... £10... £20... Any more than that and she might start to wonder if you know something she doesn't. What ARE you going to do... walk away with several grand in your back pocket or be a martyr to your principles?
So you know a bit about antiques. You watch all the antique programs on TV and you enjoy a browse around antique fairs and car boot sales looking for that little gem that's going make you rich... who doesn't?
One day, you're chatting away with an elderly lady that you haven't known for all that long. Your budding friendship was little more than the result of a chance meeting but, there you are, enjoying her hospitality as she makes you a cup of tea and offers you a homemade bun; all very cosy, isn’t it?
And there you sit, happily chatting away in her front room; she glad of the company, you feeling you're doing your bit for the elderly. She explains that she has no family left, her husband passed away a few years back and she was left in the old house with just a Social Worker popping in to see her about as frequently as the sightings of Halley's Comet.
"It won't be long before they ship me off to a Care Home," she explains, "I'm becoming more forgetful as each day passes and, if truth be told, I’m no longer the gazelle I used to be. These days, I reckon I resemble an arthritic sloth more than I do a spritely gazelle. No, I am aware that my days of independence are numbered; there's no real point in denying it any longer."
After twenty minutes or so the conversation gets round to clearing out her contents in readiness for the move to a Care Home. "I have so much junk here; God only knows what I'll do with it all. Just look at this mess," she says, dragging a box from under the cupboard, "This has been lying here untouched since my dear old Albert passed away."
With the invitation to look, you push and prod at the contents and immediately lay your eyes on a rather old looking velvet box. The velvet is badly worn, yet compels you to investigate further. Slowly, you prise open the lid and peer inside. To your absolute amazement, hidden away is the most stunning brooch you have ever seen. Art Nouveau in style, its enamelled design is of an elegant woman and her dog in the countryside. The gold surround leads down to an array of gorgeous gem stones.
Additionally, inside the box, is an envelope containing a threadbare letter dated 1894. Although it is written in French, the recipient’s name, Sarah Bernhardt, is unmistakable, as is the name of the sender on the letter inside, Rene. You are convinced that this is a letter from the renowned French designer, Rene Lalique, to Sarah Bernhardt; how exciting! To research this would be any antique experts dream. If it's what you think it is, it would be worth a small fortune.
The old lady sees you eyeing the piece. "I can see you've taken a fancy to that old brooch," she says, "It was given to me by Albert's mother. She was always giving away her costume jewellery. I don't think I ever even got round to wearing it. I guess it'll end up in the charity shop with all the other bits and bobs; unless, of course, you want to make me an offer? The local Vicar calls round from time to time, I'm sure he'd be delighted to receive a small donation for the Church roof; all contributions gratefully accepted," she chuckles.
Now what?! The chances are that brooch, along with all the other undiscovered treasures, might possibly end up on a dusty, charity shop shelf, where some greedy little chancer will pick up a proper bargain and flog it on ebay for a ridiculous amount of money. Hey! You deserve that money as much as he or she does; ain't that a fact?!
Let's face it, the old lady won't benefit from the proceeds being as, if she does end up in a Care Home, her shopping days are over. If you look at it like that, it's not like you're robbing her, is it? The local Council will soak up any disposable income she has. Based on that theory, you're more likely to be robbing the Council than her.
So come on, what are you dithering at? Make her that offer and slip the brooch into your pocket before the money-grabbing Vicar shows up and pulls the rug out from under your feet. No one need ever know. £5... £10... £20... Any more than that and she might start to wonder if you know something she doesn't. What ARE you going to do... walk away with several grand in your back pocket or be a martyr to your principles?
