The little girl and the unicorn
I was standing at Rye station about two years ago, waiting for the train to take me to work. I much enjoy working, but for me it is mostly a means to an end. On that morning, I was accosted by a little girl and her mother. The little girl, whose name I never knew, invited me to admire her jacket, which was covered in a unicorn pattern. Then she invited me to fly her unicorn; the only snag with this was it was invisible.
I could see that it was not really an invitation but a firm request. Desperately improvising, I took it off from our side of the track, flew it over and then across the rails, downwind. I wondered what difference the horn at the front might make but, as she smiled expectantly, I put the unicorn into a steep angle of bank. Making sure our train was not going to be in the way, I found a spot fortunately clear of passengers and pulled off a text book landing… No-one to criticise.
We climbed on the train, and I went to work and spent a very happy day thinking of her face and her mother’s. I would not have remembered the day for work I did that day or the money I made; in fact, the day would never have mattered at all, but thanks to that little girl I had one of the happiest moments of my life.