On Monday evening I was having a nice run around Tooting Bec common; the sun was shining, the weather was warm-ish, and people were basking in the lush green surroundings. All was going well until I tripped up. Not a little scuffle, but a full blown arms splayed and landing spread-eagled on the ground kind of fall. A route that I’ve done hundreds of times, but I somehow managed to trip up over a rogue lump of soil and skid across the concrete path on my hands and knees.

The shock and pain was incredible – as was my great squeal of terror. I don’t know whether it was to my humiliation or relief, but people came dashing over to see if I was okay. There were a few winces when I rolled over to reveal bloodied hands and knees with a nice mixture of asphalt and soil.

I was hoisted up by the kind people of the common, inspected and advised how best to treat the wounds. They weren’t particularly bad, just messy. So I brushed myself down, thanked people for their help and finished the run home. There were a few funny looks as I lolloped by with blood streaking down my legs but I felt better for the simple kindness of a group of strangers.

Unfortunately their lovely concern won’t help the skin on my knees regrow before I go on holiday in two days. I’m sure that will be a great beach look.

Sophie Robinson, Publishing Assistant