A Chance to be Kind

I don't know whether it's simply an age thing or whether my wife should already be reserving me a place in the local psychiatric hospital, but these days I often forget what I did yesterday while vividly remembering some tiny detail from 40 years ago.

Let me know if you experience the same thing. And if you don't, perhaps message my wife and encourage her to make an appointment.

Before Covid, I think Amazon had about three customers in Italy — and I was probably one of them. That may be a slight exaggeration, but you understand the point.

Then Covid arrived, and everything changed. Online shopping exploded. While convenient, it has undeniably damaged the high street. Walk through almost any town or city now and you'll see one closed shop after another. Businesses that once sold all the things we now buy cheaply from Amazon — without leaving our chairs — are disappearing one by one.

Still, Italian towns have good hearts. There are cafés, bars, gelaterias, restaurants, and small independent businesses keeping the social and financial life of these places alive.

When I see what's happening to many towns back home in England, it honestly makes me sad. Some of them feel like they are dying very quickly.

Now, what has all this got to do with ancient memories? Bear with me.

Many years ago — shortly after the collapse of the Roman Empire, when I was in my early twenties — I worked as a multi-drop delivery driver in West London.

I delivered laundry to hotels and restaurants across London's West End. The depot was on Bowes Road in North London, so every morning I'd drive up from my home in East London, about an hour away, collect my van loaded with enormous heavy white bags full of towels, tablecloths, uniforms, and delivery notes, and then head down into central London.

My route covered some of the most glamorous parts of the city: Mayfair, Park Lane, Covent Garden — all the high-end establishments.

It was hard work. Very hard work.

"Multi-drop" means exactly that. You don't make two or three deliveries and head home. Some days I'd make twenty-five deliveries or more. I had to get every order right, fight through London traffic, and somehow find the locations without GPS. Back then, I relied on a London A–Z map.

After the final delivery, I'd drive all the dirty laundry back to North London before finally heading home exhausted.

But recently, I remembered something else about that time — how kindly many of the people treated me.

I ate in some of the finest hotels and restaurants in London. Usually on the back steps or standing in the kitchen rather than seated in the dining room, of course, but the staff often looked after me. They'd offer unsold food, cancelled meals, tea, coffee, or simply a kind word and a smile.

They understood I worked hard, because they did, and they showed appreciation in small but meaningful ways.

That stayed with me.

I order a lot from Amazon these days — light bulbs, batteries, camera equipment, household items, car-cleaning products… you name it.

Yesterday, during pouring rain, an Amazon driver arrived at my gate just after I'd been thinking about those delivery days all those years ago.

And I suddenly asked myself: what do I do to show appreciation to this person?

No, I'm not obliged to do anything. Amazon certainly doesn't require it. But those kind people from 35 years ago? I still remember them. I still feel grateful to them because they made me feel valuable and respected, even though my job at the time was not especially important.

Someone wise once said, "Don't do to others what you wouldn't want done to you."

Fair enough, but I've always thought there's a better version:

"Do to others what you would want them to do to you."

And another good one is:

"Give to others freely, and they will give freely to you."

It's one of life's natural laws.

Sadly, it doesn't work with everyone, but we shouldn't let selfish people spoil it for the rest of us.

So when the delivery van pulled up at my gate in the rain, I grabbed a cold bottle of beer from the fridge, took it out to the driver, and thanked him. I did strongly advise him not to drink it immediately — it was only 10 a.m. — but he was genuinely delighted.

I loved that delivery job, although I knew it was never going to be my future. In fact, it was the last time I ever worked for someone else. It taught me a great deal about life.

Most importantly, it taught me that kindness in an often unkind world is extraordinary. Small acts make an enormous difference.

The reason some people struggle to be generous or kind is usually because they lack empathy. They cannot — or will not — put themselves in another person's position.

That mindset eventually leads to frustration and loneliness. Nobody truly enjoys being around someone who is constantly looking after only their own interests or trying to take advantage of others. We instinctively avoid those people because, deep down, we recognise something is wrong there.

After all, we are born selfish. Kindness and generosity are things we learn. They require effort and awareness.

So here's my challenge to you - next time the delivery driver arrives at your door — even if they're only delivering something small or inexpensive — give them a little gift.

It doesn't need to be expensive or impressive. What matters is the thought behind it. That simple gesture tells another human being: "I see you. I appreciate you."

I promise they will remember it for a very long time.

And perhaps, later that same day, they'll do something kind for somebody else. That's how kindness spreads.

And yes, you'll feel good too. Not because that's the goal, but because it's the natural by-product of doing something good for someone else.

Amazon is incredibly useful, but it has also changed our towns and high streets forever. Still, we have opportunities every day to put a little humanity back into the world — to create the kind of memory those people created for me 35 years ago.

I'm sure you have similar experiences of your own.

And remember: kindness almost always comes back to us, often in ways much greater than we could ever imagine.

Here's one final tip:

If you're fairly serious about a house you're going to visit in Italy, take the owner a small gift. Maybe something typical from your country.

It doesn't have to be expensive or extravagant. A thoughtful gesture can completely change the atmosphere of a meeting. It creates warmth, trust, and goodwill — and sometimes that can make all the difference.