Accident-prone … Me?
Ugh! I’ve been ill these past couple of weeks. Starting on that day out in London, my sore throat developed into a full blown cold as reported last week and continued for much of this one. I am, thankfully, over it. Yesterday morning was the best day for ages. I felt bright, cheerful and raring to go at the monthly meeting of the Walsall Adult Writers. Then I walked into this …
Yes, that’s my loft ladder, left open while I was putting stuff up there and when I came upstairs with more things, I didn’t notice it as I was too busy reading while walking … and then smacked my head against the trap.
Yes, there was blood and maybe getting into the bath twenty minutes later wasn’t a good idea but it had stopped by then.
Thing is, as I’d decided I was going to blog about it, I needed a photo, which is the one you’ve just seen. However, my camera was downstairs so after lowering the hatch once more, later in the evening, I went to get it. I was returning upstairs (You know where this is going, don’t you), switched on my camera, didn’t look where I was walking and hit the bloody thing for the second time in one day.
Okay, on this occasion there was no injury and my staircase didn’t resemble a scene out of Saw, but I was disorientated. I retreated back downstairs to grab a drink from the kitchen.
Now, a lesson also to learn is that when it is dark and you have to go through your living room to reach the said kitchen, it’s a good idea to turn on the light, especially when the kitchen is in darkness, too. And if you’ve forgotten that you left the kitchen door like this …
Not my day, really. I suppose I am a little accident-prone. Still, I can relax now. All I have to do is write this roast. Oh yes, I also have to repair that loose floorboard. Now where’s the hammer and those nails?
The Sun always shines …
I was in the queue at the local shop a while back. In front of me, a man was complaining as the Sun newspaper he’d bought an hour before, had most of the middle of it, missing. He should think himself lucky. Some poor bugger’s going to find himself reading pages 19 to 54, twice.
Steptoe and Son – Ride!
Today, where your local rag-man drives around in a van, you may be excused for thinking the likes of Steptoe and Son, were a thing of the past. But not so.
On quite a few occasions, and mostly in the neighbouring town of Bloxwich, I’ve seen a horse and cart driven around to collect scrap. However, it isn’t grown men as I found out recently, they are being operated by kids. I was in a massive queue. The tailback was immense but slowly, cars were overtaking the offending vehicle holding everybody up. Imagine my annoyance when I did too and saw this.
Yes, astonishing. To drive a car, you need to spend hundreds on lessons, pass a test and then get fleeced by greedy insurers who want all your savings just so you will be allowed to drive. On the other hand, by the evidence of this photo, any pizza-faced moron can grab hold of a horse, stick a couple of reins on it, whip it half to death and leave the roads full of shit as they can’t be bothered to pick it up.
How is this allowed to go on? There are strict guidelines for driving a motorised vehicle which is entirely in your control yet people are allowed to ride on the roads pulled by a creature that can be totally out of their control.
Something is not right there.
Still doesn’t add up.
Last week, I spoke of 30-year-old maths teacher, Jeremy Forrest who was a silly sod and ran off with his 15-year-old pupil. In his defence, he does say that he took it literally when somebody asked him to work out how many times 30 goes into 15.
Has Cinderella been in my garden?
Well, judging by the evidence – no.
The other day, I got up, yawned, walked downstairs and avoided walking into a door. I stared out of the kitchen window and imagine my surprise as I saw this …
Okay, that’s weird. It’s not like my garden is a right of way so how in the name of sanity did that training show get there? The thing is, it gets weirder. I was due out the house and didn’t have time to investigate. By the time I’d got home, it had gone.
WTF? It’s my back garden. So some bloke has lost a bloody shoe and tries to think. Oh, now where did I leave it? I know, it was in Nick’s back yard.
Also, next day I looked out and there was a pack of half-eaten sandwiches.
Am I missing something; has somebody stuck up a sign saying Picnic Site and not told me?
By hook or by crook.
Ha Haaaa! Hook-handed Abu Hamza has been extradited and you lot over there in the States have to foot the bill for his upkeep now.
It’s ridiculous how long it’s taken for this low-life scum to be kicked out. Come on, authorities, sort the bureaucracy and make it simpler.
Still, he’s gone after eight years. Three in prison and five to get him through the metal detectors at Heathrow Airport.
And back in calamity corner …
I told at the beginning of my attempts at head-butting the loft hatch. I was worried at first as there was quite a bit of blood but it soon stopped. I did make a mess of a nice white towel though and after I’d used it, forgot and left it at the foot of the stairs. Now imagine this. I’m chopping some meat to prepare a meal and the bell goes. I walk to the door, see the blood-soaked towel and think, Oh, I must wash that. I pick it up, open the door and all my visitors see is me with a large knife in one hand and a blooded towel in the other.
Brilliant. Don’t think I’ve ever got rid of Jehovah Witnesses so quick.