There I was, minding my own business, walking the dog and having a quiet existential crisis, when I spotted something on the pavement. A wallet. Inside? £350 in crisp notes.
Reader, I’m currently living on a steady diet consisting mostly of Barry’s Bargains Store instant noodles and hope, so the temptation was real.
I stood there for twenty minutes, staring at this unexpected windfall like it had fallen straight out of the sky and into my morally conflicted lap. My heart was pounding. I imagined chips. Takeaways. The posh biscuits with chocolate on both sides.
But deep down, I knew the truth: this wasn’t my money. It wasn’t some cosmic gift from the universe. It was someone else’s Very Bad Day.
So, I did the right thing (eventually). The driving licence had an address not far off, so I trudged over. A woman answered the door, and the look of relief on her face was something else, like I’d just returned her winning lottery ticket or the family cat. She hugged me. I awkwardly accepted.
Later, I told a workmate what happened. “You absolute idiot,” they said, horrified. And maybe they’re right, maybe I did lose £350.
But I got to keep my conscience.
And that, my friends, is utterly priceless.
Story by Daniel Blyth
