I met my mum at the bus stop yesterday because she had some things from my Nan’s flat that she was giving to my dad and she couldn’t carry them on her own. As we were walking along, and she was filling me in on the punch-up that happened the day before, she started pointing.

There was an elderly man kneeling on the floor by the side of a car. At first glance it looked like he was looking under the car, like we did for our footballs as kids, but at about 55+ I doubted that was the reason he was looking.

My mum said he looked like he was trying to get up and sent me over to ask if he was OK. As I approached I could smell the unmistakable odour of cheap white cider in my nostrals (the kind of cider that has never been anywhere near an apple) and as I got to him I saw a puddle of blood on the pavement.

It was obvious he had fallen in his drunken state and had smashed his nose into something. I offered to get him an ambulance but he said he didn’t need one so I pulled out a pack of tissues to mop up the blood from his face.

And that was when one of my exes turned up.

It turned out that she was a friend of his so I went on my way leaving Tracy (why do I date a lot of Tracy’s? I’ve dated three!) to phone the ambulance that he didn’t want or need. He had a bloody nose for God’s sake.

My mum then gave me a stern lecture that when we get home I should thoroughly wash my hands because I had some of his blood on me.

No hero medal for me then? No reward? Those packs of tissues are not cheap you know, and I’ll never get the blood out of this white jumper that I’ve had for five years but only worn twice because I secretly dislike it.

Photo by Piotr Bizior from FreeImages