As I was walking into the centre of Cardiff on Saturday, I stepped off the curb outside St Andrew's church and almost trod right on this little guy...
He was lying in the gutter, wet from the standing rainwater and half-matted with leaves shaken down by the previous night's blustering storm. I couldn't leave him there, so I picked him up and popped him in my bag, thinking I'd consider later what I could do with him.
Then I went about my weekend and forgot about the little guy until I just pulled him out of my bag.
A colleague of mine said I should send him to the local newspaper, see if they'll print it so he can find his family again. I think I might scan him and send him to the Lost Photo Gallery but he's unlikely to find his way home from there.
Maybe I was just meant to find him and look after him. Who knows? I'm starting to imagine where he is now and how come an old photo of him in his school uniform against a very seventies backdrop of cork-tiled walls came to end up in a gutter in the suburbs of Cardiff. Did the adult him own the photograph and decide he didn't want this picture of his young self any more? What if something awful happened to him and this piece of his childhood fluttered out of a box carried by someone clearing out his house? Maybe he did live in someone's wallet and somehow he slipped out and ended up being trampled by shoppers on their way to town on a brisk Hallow'een day.
For now, I'll just keep him in my wallet. Which is kind of odd. I don't even have a picture of my nearest and dearest in my wallet, so to be carrying round a photo that looks some thirty years old of a person I don't know is probably strange. I just feel kind of compelled to look after him. I dunno.