January 30 - in which Huddersfield fans get lost on the way to Cockfosters

It's the Fourth Round of the FA Cup today, a time for an unfancied Northern team in the lower divisions to come down to London to play one of the city's big sides. This year, it's Huddersfield Town, who are off to Arsenal, with the traditional following of several thousand fans dressed in the team colours and big scarves, some with cardboard cut-outs of the FA Cup covered in tinfoil, singing songs dedicated to players no-one but them has ever heard of, players whose talents barely grace League Division 2, let alone the Premier League. You can tell the fans of a team that doesn't come down to London much. They stand around on tube stations looking at the map of the Underground as if it is an ancient Egyptian scroll in obscure hieroglyph, and making comments about how funny it is "none of the Cockneys smile or even look at each other, they need to cheer up a bit". Which of course makes us scowl even more.

I run into a bunch of them after work, as they are on their way home after the game. I'm a bit more kindly disposed to them than normal because they've given Arsenal a run for their money and been cheated out of a draw by a soft late penalty. As usual they look hopelessly lost. They are trying to get back to Cockfosters, where they were dropped off this morning by their coach tour. They are about to get on not only the wrong train, on the wrong line, but one travelling in the wrong direction. It's the work of a moment to put them on the right train, in the right direction, but the work of several minutes to explain what I've done, which line they're now on, and how many stops they need to go. Luckily it's the last station on the line, so they should be OK. This is how I end up travelling with a bunch of West Yorkshire football fans, swapping songs, and generally taking the mickey out of the Arsenal supporters on the train. I've had worse journeys.

January 26 - in which I don't feel like doing an RAK at all

I've been trying to ignore it for a few days, but can't any longer. I've got a cold. It's making me feel terrible, and the last thing I want to do is use up my energy being kind to anyone else. I'm too busy wallowing in snot and self-pity. At work, I'm too intent on making myself Lemsips to get the teas in. On the tube, I can't face giving up my seat to anyone. I get to the end of the day and am about to admit failure. But on my way home, I see these lovely tulips on sale at the florists - first ones I've seen for since last summer, and I buy two bunches for Lorren. Because she's lovely.

January 25 - in which I dish out post-match treats

Off to a nearby primary school to see my stepdaughter play for her school football team. They're "played 2, won 2" so far, and I am bringing the dog along as their lucky mascot. It's a bitterly cold day, and they are up against their toughest opposition so far - a team containing one girl who trains with Arsenal and two who play for Enfield Ladies. It's not going to be easy.
At half-time, however, they're just 1 goal down. After their coach gives them their team talk, I step in to provide extra inspiration. "This big packet of Minstrels is for you lot if you win!" I tell them. The general feeling among the girls appears to be that I should share them out right now to give them extra energy. And this may be because they had some idea of what would befall them in the second half. Sadly, despite a spirited performance, they go down 4-0. They get the Minstrels anyway, of course...

January 24 - in which I explore a new approach to giving up one's seat on the tube

To get round the inevitable embarrassment of giving up one's seat on the tube to someone who is not aged, infirm or pregnant, I have a new plan. I will only sit when there is at least one other seat free. The rest of the time I'll stand. So if someone gets on and takes the last seat, I'll get up - and then the next person on can just take the free seat without any apology or reluctance. Similarly, if I'm standing, and a seat becomes free, I'll only take it if a) there's no-one else standing and b) taking it would still leave another seat free. This works pretty well all day, I'm glad to say. Although it did involve a lot of standing.

January 22 - in which I'm a scrubber

Not every RAK has to be a grand gesture. Today, mine took just 5 minutes and a damp cloth. We have a kitchen area at work where staff can make their own teas and coffees, which gets cleaned overnight. A few hours into the day, however, it has customarily become a complete mess - dirty mugs, empty milk sachets and filthy brown coffee mug rings and teabag stains all over the counters. Not very pleasant. And it turns out it doesn't take long to clean it up - I might just do it on a regular basis from now on.

January 21 - in which I get the teas in and get teased

It's a great place to work, BBC Television Centre. You get to see celebrities all the time - presenters, famous actors, sports stars, the lot. But sometimes things are not quite what they seem.

I'm in the foyer, where members of the public come when they're here to watch a show or go on a tour of the building. Queuing for a cup of coffee and a croissant, I spy four aged Chelsea Pensioners, resplendent in their long red coats and medals, sitting at a table looking a little lost and unattended to. I decide that it would be a nice gesture to buy them all a tea.
Four teas in hand, I approach their table a little nervously. I'm worried they might think I'm being a bit patronising. But hey - these are ex-servicemen down on their luck. A cup of tea is the least I can get them, surely. I plonk them on the table and say "These are for you chaps. On me."
"Bless you, son," says one of them. "Of course, you know we're not real Chelsea pensioners. We're actors. We're here to perform on a comedy show."
"Aww, look," says another, "You've embarrassed him now." I can feel my face going bright scarlet. "Never mind, son. It was a lovely gesture anyway. Even if it wasn't quite as lovely as you thought. Leave the teas here. We do appreciate it."
As I'm leaving, one of them calls me back. "Actually, I don't drink tea," he admits, "So you can give this one to someone else. Unless it's lapsang souchong, by any chance?" I have to confess that it isn't.

January 19 - a sad day

We attend the funeral of L's friend Sue. It was as sad and emotional as you'd expect. Not much else to say really. We didn't do any specific RAKs, unless you count offering sympathy and comfort to her family and friends. Sometimes you can't do any more. Hope you'll understand and cut us a break.

January 18 - in which I try my hand at teaching and Lorren spreads comfort

Sometimes - quite often in fact - performing a Random Act of Kindness simply involves making a choice from two options. The right thing to do versus, not exactly the wrong thing, but the easy thing to do. I'm confronted with this sort of choice today. I am sub-editing the scripts that will be read out on air by the newsreaders, and one section in particular is causing me problems - what we call the half-heads, the series of headlines broadcast at the half-past-the-hour juncture. There's a certain skill to writing them - you need to incorporate all the main points of a particular news story in no more than two or three sentences, while also making sure that your words do not conflict with the images on the screen. We have a new journalist writing them today, and she is struggling to write concise, lucid, intelligible scripts. I have two choices here - I can keep quite and simply rewrite the scripts, or I can take the time out to explain to her what she's doing wrong, give her advice on what's needed, and coach her in how to do it correctly. Option a) is the easy one. Option b) will involve effort and time that I'm unwilling to expend. I sigh. I know what I have to do. Option b) it is.
Tomorrow we will be going to the funeral of L's friend Sue. It still seems unreal that she's dead. L's RAK today has been helping (via Facebook and email) Sue's close friends to stay strong on the eve of what will be an incredibly emotional day. How she is managing to stay strong herself, I can only guess.

January 17 -

January 15 and 16 - in which we spend a weekend being thwarted!

Not a great weekend for trying to be kind. Every time we try to perform an RAK we seem to be thwarted. On Saturday, on the way to work, I see a woman about to struggle down the steps with a pushchair at a tube station and am just about to offer help - when some guy steps in and gets there first. At work, continual offers to get the teas in are met with polite refusals. Doesn't anyone want to get helped, goddammit? It gets worse. On the way home, a man running for the train has to dodge round a man with a suitcase, and in doing so, drops his packet of cigarettes. I pick it up and chase after him shouting "Excuse me mate, you dropped this". All to no avail. His single-minded determination to catch the train leaves him deaf to all pleas. He dives into the carriage just as the doors slide shut behind him, leaving me forlornly holding up a packet of fags on the platform. Not sure what to do next, I just get rid of them - so perhaps it was for the best.

On Sunday we're visiting L's cousin and her delightful baby boy. Our RAK is to bring them a big bunch of flowers. True to form, we leave them at home, sitting in water in the kitchen sink. Oh well. It's the thought that counts - well, for this weekend, it'll have to.

January 14 - in which I get off far too lightly

Some Random Acts of Kindness are really a bit too easy. Take today's, for example, which cost me nothing except a very minor bit of inconvenience.
One of my work colleagues, is in a little distress. She's been having problems getting the right care for her elderly father, and she's worried that he's about to be fobbed off with something unsuitable. He has a medical appointment on Monday which she is desperate to attend with them - but she's supposed to be at work at the time. She needs to finish work earlier than her scheduled shift allows.
As it happens, I've been given the early-start early-finish shift for that day, and I was hoping to keep it as we may have a social engagement for that evening. But it's obvious who needs the early finish more, so I arrange to switch shifts with my colleague. And that makes me feel a lot better than I really have any right to.

January 13 - in which we explore the etiquette of giving up your seat

The journey home, and again, I need an RAK to perform. I'm sitting in a reasonably crowded tube carriage and trying to work out how to smoothly give up my seat to one of the people standing in front of me. The trouble is that none of the passengers standing is elderly or infirm or pregnant, and might well find it odd if I just stand up and offer them the seat. Even worse, if I stand up and implicitly offer the seat, everyone might assume that I was giving it up for someone else, and no-one will sit down. Oh, how we Londoners love to tie ouselves up in knots of mute embarrassment - anything rather than actually talk to each other and make ourselves clear.

It takes me a few stops to work it out, but finally I hit on the solution. I get up nonchalantly and stand by the exit door, as if I were about to disembark at the next station. One of the standing passengers, a young woman, immediately accepts the free seat. I stand up for the rest of the journey. Neither of us look at each other or acknowledge what's happened. But the important thing is I managed to give up my seat for someone else without actually having to make any personal contact with them at all. Job done, and British etiquette preserved. Hurrah!
My Random Act of Kindness was the work of a moment. L spends an entire evening doing her RAK. She's at church, helping to teach a confirmation class - children doing Bible studies in preparation for being confirmed into the Church. It's a thankless task, which she and I have promised to do once a week for eight weeks. We'll be trying to make the lessons a bit more interesting and fun for the poor kids, most of whom I'm sure would rather be sitting at home in front of the TV.

January 12 - in which we both end up recycling

One of the side-effects of trying to perform one random act of kindness each day, and writing about it as well, is that you spend a lot of time looking for opportunities for interesting RAKs - and also doing several minor RAKs just in case you don't get the chance to do a bigger one. So some days, when you think you're struggling to be as kind as you'd like, you end up doing a lot more kind deeds than you otherwise would. Today's a case in point. I spend much of the working day buying my colleagues cups of tea, doing little errands, and so on. Then on the way home, I let people on to the train first, deliberately leave seats free for other passengers, pick up a toy that a baby drops... but none of it feels especially like a proper RAK. Finally, as I'm leaving the station, I offer my copy of the Evening Standard to a woman on her way to the trains, and she accepts with thanks. It'll have to do. It's only a free newspaper, but at least she'll have something to read on her journey. Just hope she didn't want to do the sudoku, because I'd finished it.
L has been more productive with her time, spending half an hour picking up litter off the green. A very eco-friendly RAK.

January 11 - in which we meet Muriel and Lorren goes shopping

So I'm in Asda, at the checkout, waiting to get my food shopping scanned, packed and paid for. Never one of my favourite activities. And on this particular occasion, it appears to be taking a great deal longer than usual. The till is manned by a large, middle-aged lady by the name of Muriel, who it seems has not worked at that post recently, nor has any desire to in the near future. She's being helped, and teased, by a younger colleague who is giggling at her frequent errors and unfamiliarity with the mechanics of the till system. "Yayyy, Muriel!" she laughs, as Muriel finally manages to price a bunch of carrots, "You're doing fine! You're killin' at the tilling now!" Muriel giggles, then remembers she's supposed to be cross, and gives her a look. "Hmph! I'm not doing this again tomorrow," she mutters as she tries to scan a recalcitrent barcode. Finally, she finishes dealing with the customer ahead of me, turns to me and asks "Are you in a hurry, darlin'?" I shake my head. "That's good," she says, "Because this could take a looong time." Her colleague falls off her stool laughing.

She presses on in a slow but doggedly determined fashion, hmph'ing and muttering all the while. A security guard goes past and takes the mickey out of her - "Hey Muriel, you're not a young girl, you been here years, you don't need any training..." He gets a look too. We reach the end, with only a minor hiccup over a "2 for 1" item. Muriel looks me in square in the eye, and says very formally, "Now. Do you want any cashback?" Her colleague shakes her head and says "Say no!" I take the hint, refuse, and pay my bill. But I think Muriel is in want of a bit of encouragement, if only for the entertainment she's given me. "Muriel," I tell her, "I just want to say that that was a first-class bit of work you just did. I don't think I've ever had better service at a supermarket till.". Muriel and her colleague look at each other and burst out laughing again. "Thank you, darlin'," she says, "That's very kind. But it's not true." I hope I get Muriel again the next time I'm in Asda. Might even ask for a photo next time.
L spends a long afternoon in the shops with her mum, trying to help her change all the Christmas presents she doesn't want. She comes home tired and frustrated. "At least you've done your Random of Act of Kindness," I say, "that should make you feel good." She gives me a look. Much like the one Muriel threw at the security guard, funnily enough.

January 10 - in which I'm accused of pedantry

The main difficulty both Lorren and I are finding in keeping to our task is to think of different Random Acts of Kindness to do every day. You'd think it was easy, that everyday life would supply you with plenty of opportunities to be kind to someone else. In practice - once you rule out normal every day courtesies like letting a car pull out in front of you or opening a door for someone - it's far more difficult. Today I walk into town and can find literally no-one who might benefit from an RAK. Well, that's not quite true. Obviously, you could be kind to someone by buying them a doughnut out of the blue, or offering to pay for their shopping. But that's just feels a bit forced, a bit deliberately eccentric rather than randomly kind. Besides, the person you're doing it for might take it the wrong way - be freaked out by it rather than made happier. Actually, let's cut to the truth - the fact is, it mught be embarrassing, and God forbid we English should embarrass ourselves.

Anyway, as I was saying, I walked into town and couldn't find a convenient RAK to do. However, as I walk home past the computer games shop, I see a sign advertising 3D Nintendo DS players, exhorting customers to "BOOK NOW TO AVOID DISSAPOINTMENT". I take out my biro and correct the spelling, crossing  out the superfluous S and inserting a P. Much better.

I put this forward to L as an Random Act of Kindness, protecting the poor shopkeeper from public derision over his poor spelling, but she disagrees. "More like a Random Act of Pedantry", she claims. She, meanwhile, has made a present of some kitchen knives ("the sharpest knives on the market", apparently), that we'd bought mail-order and not used once, to our neighbours. Piqued by being outdone in the RAK stakes, I offer to pick up our eldest daughter from the bus-stop to stop L having to go out in the cold and dark to do it. That will have to do for today.

January 9 - in which I contemplate non-violence as an Act of Kindness

I'm working another weekend shift and struggling to get to work because of disruption to the tube network. As I try and work out a path to West London around the various stations and lines closed for engineering, I toy briefly with the notion that it may well be a Random Act of Kindness not to actively seek out and stove the head in of the person responsible for closing the Central Line, or indeed the person responsible for not informing anyone about said closure until my train had reached Oxford Circus.
L spends the afternoon sorting out Eimar's CV for her. Is she determined to lose our lodger for us? At work, we are still busy with the aftermath of the shootings in Arizona and by the time we get a break, it's gone 10pm and I realise I have quite forgotten to perform an RAK of any kind. So I desperately try to give as many of the team as possible an "early out" so they don't all have to stay to midnight.

January 8 - in which Lorren loses someone dear to her

L's friend Sue died today of cancer. It's been a shockingly, almost obscenely, short period between her first diagnosis and her death- just six weeks - which makes it even harder on her friends and family. Sue was a
lovely young woman with a gorgeous family and her loss is very hard to bear. L calls me at work to tell me the sad news and I feel awful. I know L will need someone to comfort her and I can't be there.
Two of her friends can be though - Doug and Sarah, and Doug's little daughter Daisy. They go for a walk with Charlie and afterwards Daisy asks if she can take Charlie home with her for the night. This is a huge step for Daisy who up until a few months ago was scared of dogs. So L says yes, of course she can.
Back at work, we have a hectic evening after the shooting of US congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords. The team work their socks off as we roll on the news for nearly four straight hours. So I buy them each a
Cadburys Creme Egg, putting each one neatly on their keyboards for them to find. it looks like a giant chocolate hen has been roaming the newsroom laying foil-wrapped eggs on people's desks.

January 7 - in which we debate RAKs, dog poo, and trees falling in forests

The Random Act of Kindness I perform today is different from the ones that have gone before, in that there's no direct recipient for it. In fact, there may not be a recipient at all. No-one specifically benefits from it, although it's quite possible that someone might have been seriously inconvenienced had I not performed it.

I'm out on the local green walking Charlie, our eager little half-Yorkshire Terrier, half-Jack Russell. She's been a good girl, done her business and like all responsible dog owners, I've scooped it up with a plastic bag and disposed of it properly in the dog waste bin. A little later, however, I come across a quite disgusting poo that another owner has left behind (I don't mean the owner has done a... I mean the dog... you know what I mean). It's huge and messy and you should be quite glad I didn't take a picture of it for the blog. At first, I leave it. I've got a spare plastic bag, but we're now some distance from the dog waste bin and I don't fancy carrying this turd around for very long. But as our walk continues, my conscience wrestles with me, gets me in a complicated and surprisingly painful armlock, and pins me to the mat. I head back, trying to retrace our steps, until finally we find the offending turd again, and I dispose of it.

The question is - and I ask L this when we discuss it - is this really an RAK? It's quite possible that no-one else would have come anywhere near the dog poo, let alone trodden in it. It's like the old philosophical question about the tree falling in the forest with no-one around to see or hear it fall. Can we really say it's actually fallen?  Can I say I've done anyone a kindness if no-one actually gets the benefit? L's view is that I'm worrying too much about it. I think she may be right.
L's RAK does directly benefit someone else, and could be financially ruinous for us. Our lovely lodger Eimar is looking for a job now her college course has come to an end, and L has found a post that might suit her. Trouble is, it's based quite a way from us, and if she gets it, she might have to move to somewhere closer to the job. We'd hate to lose her, and can ill afford losing her rent money. But she needs to work. Oh well.

January 6 - in which we find we are not alone

Doing a little internet research into Random Acts of Kindness, I discover that the concept may not be as stunningly original as we'd thought. Did you know there's an actual website community based in the USA dedicated to the idea - the Random Acts of Kindness Foundation? You can reach them at http://www.randomactsofkindness.org/ - it's a fantastically detailed website with some great (if sometimes slightly po-faced) suggestions and stories, information, and links to other sites and blogs. The Foundation sponsors an official Random Act of Kindness Week (February 14-19 this year, if you're interested).

And there's more. The comedy writer Danny Wallace has penned a book called "Random Acts of Kindness: 365 Ways To Make The World A Nicer Place", which is apparently about getting everyone to go out every Friday and perform an act of kindness for someone you don't know (I must read that - Danny's a funny writer and there could be some decent suggestions in there too). There's even another blog right here on blogspot called "365 Random Acts of Kindness" - set up by a Texan called Arnold who wants people to send in their own stories of performing RAKs in 2011. Mind you, there's nothing on it yet so maybe he's having a bit of trouble with it so far.
Both our RAKs are work-based today. It's L's first day back so she brings in sweets and treats for her colleagues. I come out of our editorial meeting earlier than expected and have half an hour to kill before my shift starts. I could just mess around on my PC for a bit - instead I go over and take over early from my opposite number on the early shift, so he can go home half an hour earlier.

January 5 - in which Lorren serves chicken for dinner and I serve mini eggs

Back in England and back at work. I'm tired, it's cold and raining, and I'm on a late shift, here in the office until midnight. And Chelsea lost 1-0 to Wolves. I am not in a particularly good frame of mind for Random Acts of Kindness. But the team on shift with me are, well, lovely, and they're working really hard and everything we try to do works out, which makes a change, and they really deserve a treat. So I get them a big bag of Cadbury mini eggs from the newsagents (on offer for only £1 too - result!). Because everyone loves mini eggs. And I start to feel better about being back at work.

L is at home playing hostess with the mostest - mostest number of people round for dinner, that is. Her RAK is to invite our lodger, the young man who's been looking after our dog, and her ex-husband to join her and the girls for a roast chicken dinner. Sounds lovely. I had a sandwich for supper. And a mini egg of course.

January 4 - in which I get given a look (a filthy one) and Lorren gives away a book (not a filthy one)

Easy one for me. I'm walking past one of those mechanised kiddie rides - you know the sort of thing, a small car or whatever you can sit in and which, when you insert some change and press a button, moves  reluctantly and almost impercetibly back and forward while emitting a loud hum, and which, when I was 2, I considered the very acme of thrill-based excitement. Two little Spanish toddlers are sitting in this thing, their faces a mixture of anticipation and bafflement. They know they are supposed to be deriving some kicks from this ride but it is just not doing it for them. Nothing is happening. There's no going forward. No going backward. Not even a perfunctory sideways shudder. Quickly perceiving where the problem lies (he's no fool, this boy - ed), I step forward, insert a euro, hit the button, and let the fun commence. The kids stare up at me in wonder. Just who is this magician who can make machines burst into life like this? The kids' dad however gives me a look I can only describe as that you might bestow on a particularly predatory type of paedophile. I leave before he calls the police.
L has been busy too, chatting to the family with the rather attractive young mum and the toddler whose ball I saved from a watery fate the other day. As we're about to leave for the airport, she gives the mum the book we've both been reading this holiday - The Elegance Of The Hedgehog, it's called. Which would be an even more impressive RAK had we both not considered the book a bit tedious. 

January 3 - in which we say goodbye to Suki

It's our last full day in the Canaries, and before we go off for a last meal out, we pay a surprise visit to Suki. Suki runs a sort of tourist booth in the shopping centre in the resort we're staying - Bahia Feliz, check it out, it's really nice if rather quiet - but only in the evenings. This involves sitting around with a bunch of leaflets waiting for passing tourists to come by, chatting them up, advising them on the things to do in Gran Canarias - and then trying to persuade them to go to a resort called Anfi to buy a holiday apartment. Yep, she's a timeshare rep. But as timeshare reps go, she's got to be one of the nicest. The reason we're going to see her is because she was lovely to us, got us a free day out at the resort and complimentary tickets to the water park, and then organised our New Year's Eve for us with friends of hers. Her booth is in one of the quieter out-of-the-way parts of even this quiet out-of-the-way resort, so customers are few and far between, which means there's no-one very much to talk to - and Suki needs people to talk to like others need oxygen to breathe!

We're not just talking hind legs and donkeys here. Suki could natter the four limbs and main body parts off a herd of any one of the larger mammals. Which is why we figure it counts as an act of kindness to go and see her and have a chat. As ever, when we get there, things are quiet. Suki's looking bored. But when she sees us, she perks up and gives us a big hug and a kiss, and we gab away about what we've done this week, and she tells us about her life, and friends and family, until we're about half an hour late for dinner. She insists on taking a photo with our daughters and wants us to send her a copy. We've only known her a few days, and I know when she first started chatting to us, she was only doing her job, but I dunno - she feels more genuine than that. Suki - if you're reading this, you're a real diamond, and we'll get the photo to you. Until we do, this is an RAK only half done.



January 2 - in which I am not waving but nearly drowning, Lorren gets the beers in and I end up with a tart

Off to a water park for the day with our daughters - surely a venue with loads of potential for Random Acts of Kindness. I could offer up my place in the queue for the water slides to someone who, well, needs it more than me; or carry a rubber raft for an aged or infirm water-slider, if there are any; or save a tiny tot from drowning in some sort of water-slide based accident; or.. or maybe something a little less melodramatic perhaps.
L has a good idea. She's seen an advert for vouchers which allow you to get a cut-price return trip to the water park. Pick up a couple , give them to holiday-makers back at the hotel, and hey presto - RAK sorted. She goes off looking for the vouchers.

Meanwhile, I cannot find a single person to bestow a Random Act of kindness on. The queues are practically non-existent. No one needs any water-sliding equipment carried for them. And the only person who comes close to drowning is me, in the wave pool, when L (who has been unsuccessful in her quest for her vouchers) calls out to me to wave while she takes a photo, and I turn my head at the wrong moment and get hit by a tsunami-like wall of water that leaves me spluttering and floundering out of my depth.

We set off home and I volunteer to go shopping at the local mini-market. I'm wondering whether this qualifies as an RAK (not really, I have to admit) when a kind deed occurs to me. A couple of days ago in the mini-market, L had hopefully picked up a lemon tart and asked me if we could have it for after dinner. I'd been in a bit of a grump, and said no, it was too expensive and what's more I didn't like it, and I didn't think the girls would either. I pick it up. It's still expensive. I still don't like it. I buy it anyway. It'll make L smile, I think. And it does.

Lorren has been performing her RAK by going down to the bar by the hotel. Now why didn't I think of that? It's a small, lonely little place that doesn't appear to get much custom. The couple who run it seem very nice. We've looked in before but never stopped. This time, L goes in and - out of charity, she claims - buys a beer and has a long chat with the owner. Made his day, or so she says.

January 1 - in which we have just half a day and a hangover to contend with in our quest to do kind deeds

I'm woken late by Lorren with a steaming hot mug of coffee. "Is that your Random Act of Kindness for today, then?" I ask. She thinks about for a minute or so and then says, no, she doesn't think it counts because she'd have done it anyway. Hmmm. These pre-conditions on our RAKs are going to make it tough work. Another thing that's going to make it tough is that it's already 12 o'clock (we were out celebrating New Year's Eve last night, obviously). Half the day has already gone, and I haven't even met anyone to perform an RAK on. I'm still in bed. And I have a hangover. This is not a good start.

We make it down to the hotel pool (we're spending the New Year in the Canaries for that bit of winter sunshine - the bit that helps you get through to spring without wanting to die from how cold and miserable it is throughout January and February).

I try smiling weakly at a couple of people to try to brighten their day, but it doesn't appear to have the desired effect. Unsurprising as I look like a particularly unappetising sort of ghoul. We lie on the sunbeds, blissfully undisturbed, and it is here we encounter the next major difficulty with performing Random Acts of Kindness. To whit, that they're incredibly difficult to perform if (a) you're not actually doing anything or going anywhere and (b) you're not actually having any real contact with other people. L asks if I can get her something from her room, and I jump up with alacrity to perform the favour. Alas - it doesn't count - she'd asked for the favour and I'd responded to that, so it wasn't random or spontaneous or unasked. I slump back on the sunbed, frustrated. Suddenly a toddler's ball flies out of his grasp and rolls slowly towards the pool - and I leap into action. "Don't worry, I've got it" I shout to the collection of sun-worshipping Germans and Scandinavians lazing unperturbed poolside. I grab the ball, still some way off the edge of the pool, and hand it back to its rightful owner, earning a big stare from him and a smile from his rather attractive young mother. Damn. Now I'm wondering whether the attention of the attractive young mum might be considered prior motivation and have compromised my RAK. But I'm rationalising too much here. I didn't see the mum until after I'd retrieved the ball. RAK saved! However, I don't mention the attractive mum when recounting the incident later on to L.
"How did you do?" I ask. "Oh God, I don't think I really did one random act of kindness," she admits. "I think your morning cup of coffee will have to count after all."

How It All Started

So here's how it all began. On New Year's Eve, my wife Lorren and I were discussing New Year's resolutions - and realising we hadn't got any. Nor could we think of any that we were likely to keep for longer than a few days. Well, they're so difficult, aren't they? You must do this or mustn't do that - and one slip and that's it for the year. Besides, we've used up all the obvious ones in years gone by. Finally, after much "amicable" discussion on the topic ("How about you resolve not to bitch about taking the bins out more than twice a week?" "Great idea - and you could resolve to, I dunno, occasionally turn a light off after leaving a room"), Lorren recalled something she'd read about a man who'd recommended doing away with New Year's Resolutions altogether - and instead of lumbering yourself with a personal vow that you're unlikely to be able to keep, just promise to be nice to someone every day. Not to be nice all the time, or to everybody - just once a day, do something that brings a smile to someone's face. Nothing special, necessarily. Maybe just letting them have your seat on the train, or making them a cup of tea, or even just paying them a compliment. Just something that makes someone's day a bit brighter. And then hopefully they'll go on to do something nice for someone else, and so on. A whole chain reaction of niceness.

This hit a chord with me. I'd just been reading a story on the BBC news website about a writer, Bernard Hare, whose life was turned round by the action of a good Samaritan - a ticket collector on a train, no-one holy or special, who'd gone out of his way to do an unasked favour for a stranger in distress, for no other reason than it was the kind thing to do. You can read the story at http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-12043294 if you want. It's not long, and it's rather inspiring. And so Lorren's suggestion got me thinking.

Being nice to people. Now there's a really revolutionary idea. Not all the time, just once a day. I could do that. We could do that. Hell, even Joe Stalin could probably do that. But could we do it every day for a whole year - perform 365 random acts of kindness? Although, as there's two of us, then that's actually - let me see - 730 random acts of kindness, if you get my drift. But 365 is snappier.
We start to discuss the parameters. Just what is it that constitutes a Random Act of Kindness (or an RAK as we've already started to call it)? We agree that it has to be an act without any promise of a reward. Nor should it be motivated by anything ulterior (like, say, fancying the person we're performing it for, for example). It can't be a response to something that's been asked for (eg "Can you get me a cup of tea?"), and it shouldn't be something you'd normally do anyway (like cooking the supper when it's your turn). It shouldn't be something that has to be done anyway, like tidying up the kitchen, and it shouldn't really be something that's designed for your own comfort. Blimey, this is getting tricky. That counts out most of the stuff I do all day.
Further points we agree on. We can't go out specifically looking for an RAK to do, they should just happen during the normal course of our day. We can't just do the same kind thing every day (because apart from anything else, that'd make an exceptionally boring blog). Oh yes - forgot about that. We agree to blog it, so people can track whether we've managed to keep it going. And we agree to report to each other about the RAK we've performed, to keep each other on our toes. By the time we'd finished all the rules, I'm beginning to think keeping a normal New Year's Resolution would have been a piece of cake compared to this.
Anyway - here's the blog. I'll try to update it every day so you can see how we're getting along. feel free to comment on it, especially if you think we're getting slack or breaking the rules. I'm personally intrigued to see how far we can go with it. Hope you are too.