Last night I was walking along Coldharbour Lane, minding my own business when I got tangled up in a bizarre chain of events. As I bopped along humming to the sweet summery sounds of Bill Withers (as I can’t whistle) and looked at the glorious orange-pink painted over the Brixton skies I was feeling upbeat and happy.
I love Brixton, the urban landscapes speckled with the Caribbean community and the young arty folk who inhabit the streets around me. I smile at the man sorting the new delivery of fresh fruit into plastic crates on a foldable table outside his corner shop. There is excitement in the air as a group of children chase each other down the street as they run for the 45 bus.
Then I spot a young boy on his BMX bike. He has his baseball cap perched on the edge of his head, hands down by his side and leant back on his seat. As he pedals his bike along and I marvel at how he’s even managing to stay on his bike without holding onto the handle bars let alone ride down a busy road so casually. Just as he passes me, his phone falls out of his pocket onto the road. He hasn’t seemed to notice.
So I grab the phone and give chase alone the road. My heart is pounding as my feet hit the pavement and I negotiate my way round the pedestrians and obstacles along the road. I call after him, but he cannot hear me. I’m now actually sprinting. Running as fast as I can to catch up with him. Finally he stopped at a red light. Slightly regretting my attempt at a good deed I approach him.
“Excuse me. You dropped this” I call over as I approach holding the iPhone out to him.
He looks surprised and mutters ‘thank you’ as he takes the phone.
The boy then dismounted his bike to put the phone back in his pocket, but as he does so, two more phones fall out of his pocket.
As he scrambled to pick them all up and sped away on his BMX I am left stood there, wondering if perhaps he did own three mobile phones. Or whether I am now considered an accessory…
Good old Brixton.