Yesterday I walked past the Blood Donor Centre near Oxford Circus, as I often do. But this time, I stopped, turned round and for the first time in about 25 years, I went in. For years, I was a regular, donating a pint of half-Irish B Negative in the hope that it might save someone’s life. And if it did, it may compensate for the heartless way I step over beggars and studiously ignore anyone selling The Big Issue. Yesterday I must have decided that my account at the Bank of Compassion & Charity was severely in the red, so I decided to start saving lives again. I’d forgotten how easy and painless it is. No sweat, no tears, just blood.
Very nearly an armful.
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