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All of us have fallen over at sometime in our lives. Either because we’ve imbibed too much of the jolly juice, or there’s been ice and snow on the ground or we’ve just been wearing slippers (the deadliest of all footwear and are banned in my house) we’ve all found ourselves A over T at least once. As you get older, the chance of going down increases along with the chances of not getting back up again.
Once of my most spectacular pratfalls occurred when I was a child during the heatwave of 1976, when I managed to fall UP some stairs and break my right arm. So there I was plastered up during the hottest period of weather in recent history with only plastic drinking straws pushed together to make a improvised scratcher to releive my irritation of the plaster cast.
Another time I fell over because I was roaring drunk, straight into the front garden onto the sharp rockery. But no damage done because my body was limp with booze and just seemed to bounce back up again as you do when you are younger, fitter and happier.
In the early hours of this morning, I was only early bottle duty, preparing a bottle for Herbie as he slowly tried to cry the house down like Joshua bringing down the walls of Jericho, except using the power of his tiny (but loud) lungs rather than trumpets. The delivery driver was early and so I decided to be a clever bastard and bring the newspapers in while I was waiting for the bottle to warm up.
As I was moving from the kitchen through the office to the shop floor, I’d forgotten to open the conjoining doors, and began to swing my body around to put the bundle down in my left hand, so I could open the door and make safe passage through it. Unfortunately, my body decided that something else was going to happen.
I can only describe as an invisible hand pulled the rug away from me as both legs gave way and I toppled forward, headfirst into the door frame, right shoulder taking a lot of the impact after my head and then I slide rapidly earthwards… BANG, BANG – both knees hit the stone tiles, then I awoke a split second later with my nose pressed hard against the cold brass plate that covered the step.
Don’t worry. I’m still alive. Just a bump on the head, pains down my right side and two sore knees. If I don’t write another entry, you know why. 🙂
The problem with falling down is getting back up again, no?
I am one of four candidates for a job interview that could change everything really quickly. Dream job? Possibly. Long way to go? Absolutely! But one in four…I like those odds…
After going over old ground and listening to some of my old “albums”, I realise that I have recorded far too much music for one lifetime.
A long time ago, in a different life, I worked at the obscure end of the Teletext galaxy. I was the man that made the words appear on Carlton, LWT and Central (plus GMTV) teletext between 1995 and 2000. When I made my escape, I did it because I knew that the future was limited and I predicted it would all be over in ten years, basing this on the rise of digital television and the increasing limited appeal of the medium. I hate to say it, but I was right.
http://news.bbc.co.uk/local/jersey/hi/tv_and_radio/newsid_8366000/8366937.stm
It is a shame. It was a pioneering, if often overlooked service, but now it is consigned to the technological rubbish bin along with betamax, the digital compact cassette and HD-DVD.
It was fun and the quickest way to get the lottery results! (And Digitiser was good too).
Received the letter from the Motor Insurers Bureau informing us that they would not cover our loss assessor’s fee – but they would pay £2242.99 towards the £17196.26 costs. The loss assessor bills at 10% of the total claim, so you can work out that this entire incident has cost in excess of £171000. Remember the person who did this only got fined £175!
Shingles are bloody painful and annoying. I knew something was wrong a fortnight ago when the lymph node in the right side of my neck started to hurt. Thinking it might be portent of a sore throat or cold, I didn’t think much of it, but then about five days later the skin on my right shoulder blade felt really sensitive. Then it began to burn.
When the blisters appeared, I already knew what it was. Shingles and stress seem to run in my family. When my grandmother (dear departed) lost her father, she had a bad case of them and I used to help her administer the cream on the blisters. She had them worse than me and I now have a hint of what the pain was like. I saw her cry and it was upsetting, but she still managed to do a day’s work, despite all her work colleagues shunning her because they were ignorant pigs who thought she was somehow contagious. That’s probably why she cried. Friends she had known for ten or so years would get up and leave the staffroom whenever she would enter. Ain’t people lovely?
My grandfather also used to get them, but only minor outbreaks. Again, directly linked to stress and work. I am going through a minor case by the looks of it, but the pain is sufficient to make every movement uncomfortable and I do feel nausea from time to time, but I am hoping that they will eventually go and the scars aren’t too bad.
I just have this permanently erect and painfully sensitive right nipple to deal with. I don’t think our relationship is ever going to be the same again.
Meanwhile, I just discovered that my loss assessor’s final fee is £14953.27 (+ VAT @ £2242.99). Jebus H Crumpets! Everyone pray to whichever wooden idol you worship and hope that the Motor Insurers Bureau are going to meet this cost. It would be a nice Christmas present.
The events of the last 12 months have finally manifested themselves in a breakdown of my immune system and a very painful nerve infection. The right side of my body and my arm feels like it is on fire, prickled by a thousand darting needles. But don’t fear gently reader, this is my pain. This pain belongs to me and no-one can take it away from me. I thank my assailant for this pain. It is a nice Christmas present. I thank you. I suffer for you. And I thank the insurance company too for adding to this pain. And I thank myself for bringing us here and putting us all in the line of fire. I must be punished and if this is my punishment, then I will take it like a man.
What really hurts is not being able to pick up and hug my children, such is the pain and nature of the infection. This may possibly last until beyond Christmas and the pain could continue long afer the infection has been overthrown.
I have instructed The Missus to only call the doctors when I cannot leave my sick bed, such is my aversion to medicine. Thankfully, I am still walking around and lugging stuff, so no sign of me falling over just yet.