Something happened this week which restored my faith in human nature.
I was struggling through the snarling traffic of Wolverhampton to do a talk at the racecourse. There were roadworks everywhere and I was getting nowhere fast.
My mobile rang (just when I didn't want it to), and a voice said to me "I sent you a text on Thursday to check that you are OK and you didn't reply. Is everything alright?"
It took me a moment to work out what the person was saying, and then I twigged.
The person (an Ecademy member) continued;"I know that you work in London a lot, and I just wanted to check that you hadn't been caught up in the bombs."
For a second or two I was struck dumb, and didn't know what to say, and then I realised that this person genuinely was concerned for my wellbeing. I hadn't reaceived the text because presumably the networks were down for a short while on Thursday, but I found the gesture extremely touching in today's day and age.
We chatted briefly - and the traffic cleared.
The horror of the bombings in London has shocked everyone, and I heard yesterday how an Ecademy member has sadly lost his life. It took me back to the days when I worked in London every day, when all 12 of us in our office at the time missed a bomb by feet or minutes. In fact I was only talking to an old colleague of mine this week, who was on London Bridge station when a bomb went off a few yards away from him.
Clearly, he survived, but his story has stuck with me for many years. We're meeting up next week for a beer.
The two-minute silence on Thursday was a poignant moment, and it's interesting to reflect how powerful silence can be when important statements need to be made.
Today was my Daughter's Sports Day - though the resemblance to sport was more symbolic than anything else. What has happened to sport in schools today? When I was a lad...
Nevertheless, you will be delighted to hear of my glorious third place in the Father's Bean Bag Race. My wife got a silver in the Mum's Egg and Spoon. London Olympics - here we come.