Santa's very little helper

They say that charity begins at home. Sadly this year it can’t find its way out of my front door.

This week I discovered just how hard it is to be kind to my fellow Londoners. Several months ago I decided to volunteer with the Salvation Army on Christmas Day. After years of snorkeling in vats of gravy on the 25th, it felt like it was time to help serve up lunch to someone who might otherwise go without.

My newfound thoughtfulness may have had something to do with the fact that everyone I knew in London (all six of them) were fleeing the city for Christmas, but suspend your scepticism and assume that my intentions were entirely honorable.

After putting my name down to be a volunteer I waited for my call back. The call never came, and so last week I called to check where I was needed and at what time. Needless to say I hoped that they would understand that it would be ever so inconvenient if I was expected to be anywhere before midday.

‘Oh no, it’s too late to volunteer, you needed to file an application and we have to do a police check on you which takes 10 days to come through.’

‘But I put my name down weeks ago and gave you all my details, no one said anything about filing an application. What do you think I am going to do anyway? Steal the baked potatoes?’ This was in fact exactly what I intended to do. I had spent all my free time in the weeks prior trying to calculate the best way to walk away from the Salvation Army with a large volume of gravy on my person.

I cannot tell you how bad it is for one’s self confidence to be rejected by the Salvation Army on Christmas Day.

So I called Crisis; a London based charity involved with helping the homeless. Surely these guys would need some help on Christmas Day.

‘Sorry but we have enough help.’ Said the voice on the other end of the phone.

Remember this is a charity we are talking about here.

My last hope was to type into Google ‘I have no where to go on Christmas Day.’ Another charity popped up, but it turned out they would only take my help if I committed to working from 7am to 3pm. Happily by this stage I had been invited to a Christmas lunch, so my goodwill for mankind needed to be wrapped up by around 1pm. This apparently didn’t work for them.

So I sit here wondering whether Londoners have bigger hearts than I thought and that just maybe the bureaucracy here makes it hard for us to use them.

Then I realise that someone has swiped the notebook which was perched next to me in the pub where I am writing this. I think my charity and belongings are better off at home whilst in London.