Hi. After a lovely afternoon sitting snuggled up on a sofa with Someone Rather Special, watching England play the Pacific Islands at rugby, I walked home to find that my bike (chained up in our stairwell since we moved in) had been stolen. Nuts.
So I rang up our landlord, just to let him know and maybe to see whether we should moan at the contractors who left our front door blocked open so that anyone could walk in off the street. He commiserated with me, but didn't give me much hope, so I said goodbye, feeling pretty low.
And then he called me back to let me know that his family has a spare mountain bike, and that he could bring it by tomorrow if I'd be interested in having it.
Now that's a good guy (and I think it was his wife's idea so I'll give her credit too), but from the afterglow of this happy little ending I'm noticing that I wouldn't have had the chance to know what a good guy my landlord is if the bike hadn't been pinched in the first place. Sometimes we need things to go wrong, so that they can be put right. And somehow that makes it better than if it never went wrong in the first place.