A tale of two weasels... a bicycle, two ambulances, the police and a fire engine

Last night I went to my best friend's house for dinner. I've known her for 27 of my 28 years, so it was a nice relaxed chat around the dinner table, scarfing pasta with tomato sauce and brie chunks followed by the best cheesecake (with the most energetically compacted base) I've had in years, made jointly by her and her future husband.

Around 10pm, as we were considering moving our tired old bones off to bed, there was a crash - weirdly, as if of cutlery falling in the sink - and a cry. We rushed to the window. Em saw a man staggering around and then sitting down heavily on the ground next to a mangled bike. There were no cars around - it seemed his wheel had just caught on the uneven street paving.

Ashley won my heart all over again by bounding downstairs to see what he could do. Two women were milling around confusedly asking the victim if he wanted an ambulance. "He didn't know what he wanted, he was winded and shocked," commented Ashley, as he whipped his phone out and called an ambulance. I called down to see if a blanket was needed as it was a chilly night. Apparently one of the women had already nipped off to get a coat.

I headed down.

Lying on the ground was a young, stocky Asian man, breathing erratically and painfully, with a huge, bleeding scrape down one elbow and a smaller, coin-shaped oozing scab on the knee. He hadn't, thankfully, hit his head (no helmet!), but his chest had landed square on the handlebars.

The ambulance arrived, along with the mandatory police car. No statements were taken as no-one else was involved. His chest was horribly bruised and they checked him over carefully before gently leading him onto a stretcher - he cried out in pain as he sat back and his chest hurt - to be loaded into the ambulance, taken to hospital and x-rayed for broken or bruised ribs.

Except that they didn't leave. The road at the front is closed off into two sections; the gate between is complete controlled by the Fire Brigade. Perhaps that was why the ambulance stayed still? Nope, it was because the tailgate was stuck, lowered, and the vehicle couldn't move.

Another ambulance was summoned with a key to manually raise the tailgate. It didn't work, but our Asian friend (I'm afraid I've forgotten his name) was whisked off for further care. The policeman glumly summoned the Fire Bridgade both to help with the stranded ambulance and open the gate so that we could get out (my car was parked right between the gate the accident site).

We whinged, we moaned, we froze gently in the car; there was no point going back up to Em's flat because we thought we'd be going any minute for about 45 minutes. We worried, we winced and then we whined about wanting to get home to bed. Which, eventually, at around midnight, we did.

Just before my weary head blacked out as it hit the pillow I remembered to thank God for these things:

- That it wasn't me or mine in the accident
- That the man was going to be fine after a bit of TLC
- That I had a warm, cozy bed to go to
- That I had the golden glow of pride in my beloved husband (he might as well be - the wedding's just a formality, really)

I am trying to think of an appropriate way to mark my gratitude (a donation to Shelter? St. John's Ambulance? Doing something voluntary to help another charity?). I don't feel guilty about whining, because it was a way of coping with the situation. It was shocking, and surprisingly upsetting, and it was strange and cold and so I focussed on me, me, me so I didn't have to think about the bigger picture at the time that it was happening. But now that I have time to think, I wish the man well and I am brimming with gratitude.