Francis Gay

When we put our minds to it, we see life’s pretty good for us all

It’s bonfire night around the land, Happy kids gather everywhere, Fireworks pop and rockets soar,

Lighting up the air. As we remember the 5th of November,

We should also be aware, That pets can be nervy and fearful,

Do keep them in your care.

Inever really understood the whole mindfulness thing – until this week.

I was sitting in a café with a troubled friend.

He barely touched his lunch as he recounted all the things that had gone wrong in his past, and all the people who were to blame.

When he wasn’t bemoaning the past he was fearing the future and what might happen if various people did various things.

I asked him to stop and tell me about the here and now.

He looked around. Then he described the estuary beyond the café wall, the reflection of the sky in the water, the wispy white clouds.

He was saying how delicious his lunch was when the waitress smiled at him.

His past might have been dreadful. His future scarily uncertain. But his here-andnow was fine.

Mind you, that’s how it is for most of us!

James is 86. When contemporaries might be settling for “hame and hearth,” he travels a lot, as he puts it, in the service of justice.

He writes to political leaders, attempting to hold them accountable.

He records songs and messages on his dictaphone and put them online on YouTube.

He helps people with addictions and has made countless appearances in court, giving legal representation to those who have none.

In the comments beneath one of his videos, there are frequent thanks from people who are inspired and uplifted just by meeting him.

The day I met him, I’d been saying there are no ordinary people. I firmly believe that. I also believe there are some who are extraordinary, in that they seem to walk closer to God than most.

And you, James, are definitely one of those!

I stepped off the pavement to scrape the carpet of leaves back from the drain cover.

A car passed on the other side of the road and the stereo was playing Justin Hayward’s song, Forever Autumn.

I was on my way to visit a man who must have felt that Fall, as the American’s call it, summed up his life.

He had fallen off the wagon, fallen into trouble, and family and friends seemed to have fallen out of love with him. I hoped to help or, at least, cheer him up.

“No matter how many leaves fall, and how often the drain gets blocked,” I imagined myself telling Justin Hayward. “The seasons do change.”

And if we know someone whose life has become autumnal or wintery, we can always take them a little bit of spring, or summer.

We walked through the hotel lobby and stepped into the lift at the same time.

We exchanged a few comments on the weather.

Her accent suggested her heritage lay far from here.

“Have you been here before?” she asked, in tones that suggested I might be something like a superhero if I had.

I confessed that I had, indeed, and asked if she was there for any particular reason.

She told me she was on holiday. I said I hoped it had been good so far.

“Ohhhh,” she said, like she was wonder-struck. “It has been amaaaaaaazing!”

And there was I, thinking it was just another rainy day in Glasgow!

Sometimes the greatest gift visitors can offer us, is a fresh appreciation of all that we already have.