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You do not want that

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Saturday 29 November 2025 at 02:35

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[ 8 minute read ]

You do not want that

Apparently, John Cleese told Prince William, at the Tusk Conservation Awards at London's Savoy Hotel last night, that 'Fawlty Towers' is about 'who is chasing whom.' I never realised that, yet of course it is. The best hand-drawn cartoons for children are all about one character chasing another, especially Tom and Jerry. Prince William, I believe had told John Cleese's that his kids love Fawlty Towers; when I think about it, they would. It is a kid's cartoon using real people; lampooning using a series of chase sequences, often in parallel. 

I am interested in, and like, writing and rarely plan writing anything; relying solely on my creativity (which has been a little lax recently). I like to, if I ever set myself a remit, gather a few mildly obscure words and then just start writing. Such complexity as Fawlty Towers, or even any skit is absolutely beyond just chucking some words at a VDU and seeing what sticks. I have a writing itch and I also have an idea gleaned from outside the OU that makes me just want to spend all the hours I have creating a form derived from the combination of chase and my own idea of a format, one that I have yet to encounter outside of my head.

This isn't it.

silhouette of a female face in profile  four stylised figures facing each otheranguish - regret

I was in one of the local Post Office shops a few days ago and allowed a couple of people to go before me. I do anyway when I have a lengthy Post Office transaction to do. However, this time it was different:

Every now and again, I run through my head, scenes of my life, to manually see if I could have done better. (Be careful if you do this because you can end up disgruntled with your life if you do not put in future effort to ameliorate your considered inadequacies).

Like everyone else, I am naturally kind; it is a survival thing, you know, like in a herd I will scratch your back if you scratch mine. However, I am, like everyone else capable of ignoring the needs of strangers. Yeah, I don't like that much. Years ago, I decided that I had to wrestle with myself to beat out of me any deliberate unkindness and especially vicarious meanness. It would be foolish of me to call myself the winner simply because I recognised my faults and wept for others; because I cheated them or ignored their needs or just plain lied and set them on the wrong path; or at least re-inforced an idea that the path they were on was the correct one.

       'Yeah, good idea, leave school and get some experience, I did.'

       'It's okay to lie, everyone does.'

       'Don't worry about them; they can look after themselves'.

A couple of years ago, I was in ALDI and next in the queue. In front of me was a woman who had just had a few items put through the scanner and was struggling to pay for them. I noticed that she mostly had copper coins. She didn't have enough. I had hundreds of pounds (GBP) in  my pocket which i was not about to spend within the next week or so.

       'Excuse me checkout assistant, I will pay for them.'

I offered cash. (I actually should have asked the customer if she would allow me to - but I addressed this a couple of years later, elsewhere with someone else)

The woman customer was surprised, 'Are you sure?' Of course I was; it was less than 5 GBP. The checkout assistant took the money and I said, 'Give the change to the lady.' It was maybe a couple of quid. She thanked me and we went our separate ways. Job done right? No.

A few days ago, idle and lying in bed thinking about getting up, I slipped into review mode, seemingly accidentally. I had been watching videos on kindness the night before though. I remembered the woman paying with coppers in ALDI. Oh no! I realise it was nowhere near enough to just pay for a few items when someone is paying with small denomination coins. Let's extend it a bit:

       She just wanted to pick up a few things as one does and I needlessly paid (except she wasn't buying luxuries)

       She spent all her money on liquid or other recreation for herself

       All the household money had been spent on liquid or other recreation that she did not partake in

       She lives alone and just ran out of food and money.

The list could go on endlessly with as many nuances as we might imagine. However, there are two more extensions that are important:

       She gets more money tomorrow (back then)

       She doesn't get more money tomorrow (back then)

It is only these two that are relevant. If she or others drank all the money the money has gone (it doesn't matter how)

Any help I could have given her back then, or anyone today cannot change the past; it only affects the future. There is no present because it has already gone before we can pause it.

Back then, with hundreds of spare pounds in my pocket, have kindly insisted on taking her around ALDI again to shop for the things she really wanted to buy but could not. I should have given her a basket and carried on myself. She would have, of course, and hopefully, been reluctant to spend my money and would have desired things but not put them in her basket. I, on the other hand should have put into my basket the things she looked at for a moment. I should have asked if she had children and I should have then chosen a few treats. Everything in our baskets I should have then paid for. A few years ago it wouldn't have been more than thirty or forty pounds GBP, or so. 

A few days ago, I wished I could have done it; I truly did. I got up and made some coffee. I would have to do better than I did then, when another situation arises.

I was in one of the local Post Office shops a few days ago and allowed a couple of people to go before me. I do anyway, when I have a lengthy Post Office transaction to do. However, this time it was different.

An elderly man came in with a parcel and he was the second person i let before me.

       'I would like to sent this parcel please.'

He was given the prices for first and second class delivery service.

       'Oh, I don't have enough.'

The second class price was less than three British pounds. I felt an overwhelming shove from my conscience. Bingo! I have cash on me! Hmm...parcel...late November...elderly person (unlikely to be an ebay seller)...Christmas present!

This time, I remembered to be polite. 'I wonder, sir, if you might accept an early Christmas present from a stranger.' With that, I placed five British pounds on top of his parcel, which was the price for First Class delivery.

He prevaricated for a whil, and there was that to-ing and fro-ing that goes on in our minds as to whether to accept or not. He accepted, and then bought second class delivery service for his parcel. He then tried to give me the change. Thinking about that, I could have taken offence at him returning half a Christmas present - joke. He explained to me that it was indeed a Christmas present and because it is fragile he was sending it early, in case it broke, so there would still be time to replace it. I don't really understand the logic behind that. 

And then it happened; but it was dampened to nothing. I had to explain why it was necessary for me to pay for his parcel; not in longhand of course but more as, 'For you, if you do not send the parcel it is a problem and you will be worried about how you can resolve it. For me it is a dozen eggs that I shall not eat in the future.  I am not going to worry if I have no eggs to eat. I won't see it as a problem.' I forgot? or just wasn't compelled to take him round the Post Office shop or ask him if he was hungry. I like to think I am a spiritual person and I was not feeling that I should feed him. He left, and the shopkeeper told me that he wished that everyone thinks like me. Oh no you don't, I thought, Oh no, you don't.

I am broken. You really don't want that! 

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The effect of being sorry

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Edited by Martin Cadwell, Thursday 25 September 2025 at 08:20

All my posts: https://learn1.open.ac.uk/mod/oublog/view.php?u=zw219551

or search for 'martin cadwell -caldwell' to eliminate caldwell returns (take note of the position of the minus sign) or 'martin cadwell blog' in your browser.

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[ 4 minute read ]

The effect of being sorry

Something that has always stayed with me is the evening I met a troubled young woman.  I was outside my flat and had only walked about twenty metres or 60 or 70 feet towards the city centre, when I noticed a young woman walking towards me and crying. I asked her what was wrong and she sobbed a little and said, "Nothing" like we do when we haven't put anything into words because we haven't started processing anything. I pressed her a little. "No, it's alright. What's wrong?' 

She was upset and feeling sorry for herself because her boyfriend had abandoned her in the city centre. I suppose they had, had an argument. She was in her late teens. She told me that she lived a long way out of the city and had no money. I felt sorry for her because I knew the city well and all the surrounding towns and villages. I knew how far she would have to walk, and I had some money, in the bank.

We walked a bit closer to where she lived, into the next clump of shops, banks and car service stations one expects to find just outside a city centre but still within the scope of the city. That was where the nearest bank I could get money from, was. I withdrew ₤20 and gave her ten. I called a taxi and we waited outside a pub. Rochelle told me that she was eighteen. Then she was so happy that someone was saving her that she became a bit amorous and wanted to know my name. I didn't tell her. She wanted to know my telephone number; "So, I can thank you again." I didn't tell her. She wanted to know where I lived. "So I can return the money!" I didn't tell her. 

       'I just want to thank you.' she said, hugging me. I let her hug me and hugged her back, but turned from her attempts to kiss me.

       'I will do anything.' she said, looking me in the eye. I refused to follow her lead in conversation.

I didn't feel at all uncomfortable, but I was a little relieved when the taxi turned up. I unhooked myself from Rochelle and spoke to the driver.

       'She wants to go home; to ******. Here's £10 for the fare. I know it is enough for her journey. If she wants to get out early and wants the fare money, let her out but keep the money; she has more money if she needs it. Once you are outside her house, tell her the fare is already paid, and give her the change from this £10. Thank you, Sir.'

Rochelle got in and they left. I didn't worry about her. I was fairly sure she would be fine. I was just glad I could help. I had given her £10 for herself, in case the driver gave her some grief and she had to get out before she arrived home. Rochelle was very attractive. By this time though, I was sure that she was more in control of herself than when I had met her earlier. At least she had options.

Something I never told Rochelle was that twenty minutes before we met, I had received a phone call from my sister telling me our dad had just died. I was heartbroken. I had worked in Germany with him and experienced so many wonderful new things. He had always spread a protective wing over me because he knew that I was deeply wounded. I was about to go into the city to get a little drunk. It was expected that he would die soon, but still I was not prepared. Yet, I could not pass a young woman, clearly upset and feeling more than a little emotionally lost, without trying to help. 

       'You see, Rochelle, I was trying to keep you from harm, the type of harm you would probably would have gotten if you threw yourself at someone else, saying 'What is your name?' 'I'll do anything to thank you!', and trying to kiss them. My pain was nothing that I could not put aside for half an hour. You can thank Emma, the desperate young woman who had lived in the same building as I, for that.'

I didn't try to help Emma when she needed it. Instead, I witnessed the slow process of stress and anxiety from not having enough money to pay her rent, turn into desperation that led to her becoming a prostitute, because she didn't know how to spell out to me that she needed help. Emma was a lovely woman, kind and intelligent. I really enjoyed her company. Her parents had thrown her out. She had nowhere to turn, money had dried up for her. I had money but I have detached emotions too.

       'You, Rochelle, might have woken up regretting the night before, in someone else's bed, if I hadn't managed to get you home. On the other hand, you may have woken smiling, and looked at a fine, young and generous new boyfriend. I wasn't worried about that, though, not one tiny bit.'

This is about seeing ourselves as we truly are, 'warts 'n' all', wanting to not be that way, and learning from our mistakes.

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