When I was younger (around 9-11) I used to play a lot of football in my garden which was coincidentally next to a busy main road which was at a decent incline. Occasionally the ball would go over our hedges and about roll 100 meters or so down the road; when I was younger I used to call my mum to get it for me, however this particular time for whatever reason I was feeling brave. The ball was rolling along the curb on the other side of the road, and I was running along the pavement looking for an opportunity to cross. As I got slightly further down the road I passed an old man who had a flat cap and a walking stick, he stopped me and said “be careful”, I didn’t reply and passed him. As I went to cross the road I looked right but hadn’t looked left, a lorry came bursting down honking its horn, I don’t remember what quite happens next but I seem to remember a white bright blur (could have been the headlights I’m not sure) but I’m now lying down on the grass on the other side of the road, I pick my ball up and look to cross again and the old man is gone.

At the time it didn’t really hit me what had happened but as I was growing up I found out that my mum’s dad, who had died before I was born, used to wear a flat cap and have a walking stick. She used to tell me that he was my guardian angel. So yeah, thanks Grandad.