I go to a gym in west London, always unwillingly. Exercise is too exhausting and boring. Always was. At school I made believe that I had headaches and parental notes too, to get out of PE classes and compulsory games. Now, twice a week, I dutifully get on cycling machines and other equipment and make myself work out for an hour. To get through the difficult hour, I people-watched: young and old, fit and unfit and Clayton Rose, one of the instructors.

Clayton is a personal trainer not only to body perfectionists, but to people who are mentally and physically disabled, the obese and hopeless. He treats them all the same. I have witnessed him listening keenly to a middle-aged working-class woman who goes on and on about her life, holidays, everything. Slim and attractive now, she was once so heavy that she was in a wheelchair. I have seen him calm down a young man with Tourette's syndrome（抽动症）and get him on a treadmill. I have also watched him pushing and coaching strong, cool men.

Clayton was shocked when I said I wanted to write about him. "Why? You know I'm not educated? I'm not clued up about politics and all that. Just an ordinary guy.”

He grew up in Twickenham, where his dad worked in a timber yard, his mum in an office. After college, the young man got into personal training and found his work. One of his best friends got seriously ill and was given months to live. Clayton put him on a program that kept him alive for almost five years: "I don't earn much, but I love my work; training and talking really helps people who don't have confidence, who are lonely, afraid, sick. Lots of people can't step into a gym. They need someone they can trust, someone who will be on their side.

The gym recently updated its equipment. The flashy new stuff confuses and upsets disabled customers. Me too. The private firm running these centers made decisions without considering these needs. Clayton is managing the chaos with grace and strength. Last week, when a young woman in a wheelchair started sobbing loudly, he calmed her down, restored her dignity, superhumanly contained his anger.

One of his colleagues thinks Clayton's "a legend". He is, and doesn't know it—a rare thing in this age of extreme narcissism（自恋）and monetized everything.

Sasha saves the day

Though I can’t recall who the gift was from, what I do remember about the gift is my initial reaction to it. When our toddler (学步的小孩) opened the box and pulled out the soft toy, my mind immediately went to the existing mountain of stuffed animals in our house. I knew that this orange knit cat, named Sasha, according to the box, was straight into that pile.

We had no idea what we were up against. When the gift box containing Sasha arrived two years into our time as parents, most surfaces in our house were covered in kid stuff. We had discovered that we could live with pretty much anything if it kept the peace and kept our kid safe.

As I expected, Sasha went into the mountain of stuffed animals. Less predictably, however, the knit cat didn’t stay in the pile. I’m not sure why. Sasha is sweet but looks unremarkable. Picture a medium-sized knit orange cat with an angled smile and a purple sweater.

No doubt part of Sasha’s appeal came from its involvement in mealtimes. We were desperate for distractions, particularly when our son was in the highchair. Without entertainment, our toddler would fight the injustice of being required to stay seated while eating. My husband started to use Sasha in the distraction games with success. We knew we were onto something when our son started asking to go into his highchair to play the “Sasha game”.

In time, Sasha’s powers grew beyond distraction. If we were having a hard time talking our son into doing something, sometimes the knit cat could bring him around.

This comfort was particularly critical when it was bedtime. Sleep was challenging for our son for a long time and, as a result, for us. We discovered that our child liked to cuddle (依偎) the knit cat at night and was able to settle down more easily if Sasha was there. This made the knit cat priceless in our household.

Remarkably, our son is now a teenager and, if all goes as planned, he will leave home to attend university later this year. Sasha no longer has a prominent role in our day-to-day lives, but I know that I will never throw Sasha out. We all love that knit cat.

Come fall, when I am an empty nester, I might just pull Sasha out again to provide comfort to me.