On the morning of Saturday, December 19th, 1987, the doorbell rang. It was one of those scruffy dodgy old women who force you to buy heather off them "for luck, dearie". I'd heard from someone - probably some dodgy old woman with a load of heather - that, if you told these people to bog off, they'd put a curse on you and something important would fall off.
I wouldn't say I was a slave to superstition, but why take the chance? If you can walk around a ladder on the pavement without getting run over, you might as well do it! If there is a slim chance of avoiding contracting some awful disease if you salute every Magpie you see along the M4, do it! I've always been vaguely aware of getting fair amount of good luck over the years. Any good fortune I've had certainly felt nothing to do with my own efforts. It can lend one to feel that one doesn't really deserve any of it at all. If, then, health and happiness had come my way purely arbitrarily, through 'good luck', why rock the boat? There's enough general chaos, destruction and unhappiness in the world. If luck has helped me avoid any of it, I'm going to salute, spit, walk round in circles, anything it takes... just in case. (more...)