God makes me stupid for a reason

It’s Monday and my first full day in London. The plan today is to take the train to the Victoria and Albert Museum in South Kensington, then pop next door to the Natural History Museum, and then totter my weary feet down to Harrods.

But sometimes God makes me stupid for a reason. I’m never sure if its to protect me or just to remind me that life is purposely unpredictable. This was one of those times.

Hold that thought, because I’ll come back to it in a minute.

First, before spending my day touristing, I wanted to grab groceries to cover our dinners for the next two nights. Being the obsessive planner that I am, before leaving home I’d gathered a collection of My Food Bag recipes from last summer to help us plan our meals. It’s intended to save us money for the real aim of my trip – eating out in Paris!

There’s a Sainsbury Local about 2 minutes walk from my Fulham apartment that stocks at least one brand of most things. It also has a great selection of fresh pastries and rolls, and fresh vegetables and fruit. So, armed with my carefully curated shopping list, I wander down the road to grab some goods.

I’m enjoying London in the summer, it’s such a contrast from the London I experienced at Christmas time. It’s warm, sunny, light, and happy. It gives me a chance to admire the variety of painted and unpainted doors and facades of Fulham’s yellow and red brick, three-storied houses and, at the same time, the regularity of them. They’re like soldiers lined up along the road, ready to defend their occupants at a moment’s notice. Of course, there’s a lot more greenery at this time of year too, leafy trees spill out of tiny concrete front yards and over brick walls.

Groceries gotten, I head back home and prep for a day of touristing.

• Camera bag – check
• iPhone – check
• Wallet with English currency – check
• Citymapper journeys saved on my iPhone – check.

And away we go.

Its a 2 minute walk to Putney Bridge Station. I’m a little early for my planned train journey to South Kensington, but I figure it’ll give me time to check which of my two Oyster Cards has the most money on it before I need to be on the platform.

Remember I said, “Sometimes God makes me stupid for a reason.” I get within 15 metres of the station and realise I don’t have my Oyster Cards on me. I’d left them in my smaller bag. Dammit. I can see trains leaving the station on the over bridge above me, as I turn and rapidly walk back to the flat. Just as well I left early, I mutter to myself.

Back at the flat, I unlock hidden key container, grab the key, unlock the deadbolt on the door, enter the hall, find my bag on the table, and grab my Oyster Cards, then do all that in reverse. In and out, quick smart. And I’m on my way back to the station.

According to my iPhone, I now have 4 minutes to get to the platform. I’ll now just make my planned train on time. When I get there, there’s a queue for the card kiosks. Of course there is, I roll my eyes. I don’t bother to check my Oyster Cards, I just swipe and hope. Luckily, the first one happens to be the right one and I’m through the barrier and up the stairs to the platform. One minute too late, according to the clock above me. Oh well, another train will be along in 5 minutes.

Five minutes passes, then 10 minutes. The sign says our train status is “Hold”. What does that mean? I notice several people are looking at their mobile phones and then heading back down stairs again. Hmm, is something wrong with the trains this morning? I’m too shy to ask.

Another five minutes goes by and finally I relent and turn on Data Roaming to check Citymapper. Ugh. It says both the District and Piccadilly Lines are down due to a signal failure at Earl’s Court. Its recommending I find alternative transport. I scroll through the bus options and find one that gets me to V&A’s door step. Number 430. From the bus stop a 10 minute walk away on the end of Putney Bridge. Grrr.

More brisk walking and I’m out of the station. I turn the wrong way at first, and then retrace my steps in the right direction. I reach the right road and I can see the top of the bus in the distance, it’s coming across the bridge. I can also see the bus stop, further up on the other side of the road. Traffic is busy and the controlled crossing is slow to allow pedestrians to cross. I dodge cars and get to the other side, then start half briskly walking and half jogging to the bus stop. I’m hot, sweaty, and pissed off.

I look up to find the bus has gotten there already, a group of passengers steadily embarking. Don’t go, don’t go, I pant as I haul myself up the rise of the bridge. Just as I’m within 5 metres of the bus stop, he closes his doors and starts to pull away. I thrust out my arm and wave frantically.

According to my daughter, most London bus drivers have a #nofucksgiven attitude. So don’t bother trying to stop them if you’re not at the bus stop, she warns. But this guy must have been having a good day and decided to be my good Samaritan. God was on his shoulder too, I guess. He stopped, I lurched on, swiped my card, breathlessly said thank you, and found a seat at the back. I’m hot, I’m out of breath, and annoyed but grateful to be moving forward.

Later that evening I recount this story to Michayla. She roars with laughter at me, of course. But she also reminds me that Grandma and Dada (my parents) pray for us every morning. Yes, every morning. They pray for God to protect and watch over us in whatever we are doing.

If Grandma were here right now, she says, she’d be telling us that there’s probably a good reason you forgot your Oyster Cards. That God made you forgetful this morning just so you didn’t take the earlier train. If you had, she speculates, you’d have found yourself in a hot carriage with dozens of others, getting grumpier and grumpier, waiting for an hour or so between stations, or being disembarked at some random station along the way, leaving you to figure out a new route to my destination and using more expensive mobile data.

She’s right, of course. That is what my mother would say. She would have quietly reminded me that sometimes it’s a good thing that God makes us a bit stupid. Sometimes it’s for our own good.