I was on my way home last night, two streets away from my road, when an elderly man in front of me stumbled and fell. I was first on the scene. He was breathing and conscious, but seemed shaken and disorientated, so I called for an ambulance.
They asked for his age, and it seemed slightly rude to ask, but he chuckled and told me he was 77. I reassured him that the ambulance was on its way, and put my bags underneath his head so he could rest on the ground a bit more comfortably.
He was Caribbean in origin and, having read the news in the past few days, I wondered if he was part of the Windrush generation. It turned out he lived in the same road as me, though we'd never met before. I chatted to him about his children and his diabetes, and managed to speak to his daughter on the phone.
What was really touching was the number of people who stopped to ask if they could help, both neighbours and passersby, black, white and Asian. A Muslim man brought out some water from his house, and an English girl got him a blanket.
The ambulance came after 40 minutes, and the man thanked me warmly. His daughter texted and said he's going to be in hospital until Monday, so I'm going to pop round to see him when he gets out.
I've said before that I live in a dodgy area, but it turns out that the people here are wonderful. I feel very happy to live in this neighbourhood now.