Dedicated to the Lady in the Eurostar Terminal

On the way to work today I found an unusual coin - a Polish 20 Groszy piece.  It looks rather like a US dime, or a British 5 pence piece.  I am quite fond of the British 5 pence, they are currently my most frequently found coin.  More than 1 pence coins, strangely enough.  Last year my most often found coin was the 1 pence piece.

On average I find almost one coin each day.  British coins usually, of course.  A few weeks ago I found a Penguin Penny, a 1 pence coin from the Falkland Islands.  And a few months ago I found several Yuan and Danish Kronas, companionably jumbled up in the curb of a road.  I find plenty of Euro coins, too.  Mainly in France and Germany, but quite a few in Britain as well.  Especially the tiny 1 cent coins!  I really love those little coins, they easily roll out of people's pockets while waiting for buses.

It never ceases to amaze me that most people either don't see these coins or can't be bothered to pick them up.  I have seen a dozen people walk past a one pound coin without picking it up!  Whenever I spot a coin close to someone there is that worry that s/he may see it before I do, so I have developed various strategies to get close to a coin without drawing attention to it.

Last weekend in the Eurostar Terminal, for example, I spotted a 1 cent coin half way under the foot of a rather elegant lady who was waiting for her boyfriend to return with some coffee.  I circled her a few times, looking disinterested, and then found a seat just opposite her.  I spent twenty minutes reading my magazine, while surrepticiously keeping an eye on the coin.  Which train was she going to catch?  Would it leave after mine, thus forcing me to abandon the coin and run for the train at the last minute?  I pondered this possibility for a while and had just decided I would instead ask her politely whether it was her coin - chances are she would say No, that's what usually happens - so I could board the train at my leisure, when she got up and joined her boyfriend.  Before she had even picked up her bags I made a dash for the coin and pocketed it!  She looked at me extremely suspiciously, and began to whisper to her boyfriend, who turned to regard me with a worried look on his face.  But I just folded my magazine in a nonchalant way, checked my ticket, and slowly made my way to the Paris train.  Scrooge McDuck would have been proud of me!

Doing business with Frieda

I had hardly moved in when the doorbell rang.  A small, scruffy looking girl child stood before me.  “You’re the lady who bought the house!” she told me, brooking no denial.  I admitted that I was.  “You’ll be wanting a babysitter.  I am cheap, dependable, and a strict disciplinarian.  I will start today.”  My reply that I did not have any children was waved aside.  “You see that lot playing over there?”  She pointed towards a small cluster of children who appeared to be arguing over a rusty tricycle a few yards down the street.  “They are a filthy, noisy, thievish lot.  Unless I keep an eye on them, you won’t have a moment’s peace around here.”

I looked the little extortionist over carefully.  “Are you sure you can control so many children on your own?”  A stern glance from her steely eyes convinced me immediately that she could.  “50 pence an hour,” she said, “payable in advance.  Double on weekends.”  “That’s ridiculous, I am usually not even here during the week.  25 pence an hour, a total of ten hours a week, payable each Saturday for the previous week.”  I was listening to these words as they left my mouth, incredulous and appalled.  Was I really bargaining with a street urchin over the amount she planned to charge me for babysitting other people’s children?  Apparently I was.

“Tell you what,” the girl was saying, “three quid a week and I guarantee absolute peace.  Paid up front.”  “Certainly not,” I replied indignantly.  “I don’t get paid in advance, either, so why should you?”  She considered this for a moment, and said, “But don’t you see, I am going to have to spend some of that money on sweets and things, to keep them quiet.”  After a bit more haggling we agreed to one pound in advance, and another at the end of the week.  After having informed me that her name was Frieda, and that she lived across the street at number 5, she left, clutching the first of the many one-pound coins that were to come her way.  Hiding behind the curtain, I observed how she rounded up the other children and led them towards the newsagent at the corner, presumably to buy sweets.  Relieved that Frieda had forgotten to mention sickness benefits, Christmas bonuses, and such like, I went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, wondering what other surprises life in The Little Street would hold for me.