I popped into the hardware shop next door to work today to replace part of a 50s clip-on anodised lamp. The old plastic switch had snapped in half after five decades of use.
On buying the replacement part, I realised I'd need the aid of an electrician to connect it up for me.
Little did I know I was standing next to him.
Next thing. I'm out front of the hardware shop with another customer, using the boot of his black VW convertible as a makeshift work bench. I handed him the new parts while he wired up the lamp. During the procedure, another guy turned up with a tray of three coffees: his friend had gone off to shout a round of lattes.
So that's why I live in the inner city. For random acts of electrical kindness.
Now the King can read in bed again.
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