A pal recently told me a story. It was about a friend of theirs who had been travelling on a train last summer, one of those old fashioned trains, with the windows that let you open the door from the outside. He was leaning on the door with his arm resting outside when another train suddenly passed by and clipped his hand. His wrist snapped. There was blood everywhere. He turned back into the carriage and was relieved to see his fellow travellers reaching for their phones. He assumed they were dialling for help. But he quickly realised he was wrong. They were in fact taking photos.
I was reminded of this somewhat grim story today, after I read about a man from Telford who had committed suicide on Saturday. The suicidal man had been perched on top of a multi-storey car park and beneath him, a group of onlookers goaded him to ‘jump and get on with it’.
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