Isn’t it amazing how much there is to do in a day when work doesn’t over-ride everything?
There was a bit of pottering this morning. That takes ages when everything has to be done one-handed. Or, actually, today it was one-and-a-half-handed as I tried to do stuff with the sling worn at a rakish angle, allowing me a bit more input with the old lazy right. Still can’t open orange juice cartons though: those ring pulls in the neck of the big cartons are effing impossible. How do oldies and the infirm manage?! There must be someone I can write to? (Come on now, Victor, calm down, there’s a good boy – Ed)
Where was I…
And then The Big Fella came round to act as my chauffer cum bodyguard cum entertainments officer cum labourer. He would hate for it to be known, but he really is a good egg. Once you put aside the continual abuse and ribbing, I really am quite fond of him. And his Mrs was the calmest lady I think I have ever worked with. The equanimity of a Zen Master. 'If you are going to be a fire engine in the home corner, Daniel, please can you be a quiet one.'
Well, after the excitement of rummaging in my brother’s garage and misdirecting John all over Cardiff, we ended up in B&Q buying tiles. Now, any journey or simple, mundane, safe expedition like shopping, should be just that – simple, safe and mundane. But Not, as The Wife will vouch, With Me Involved.
Wherever I am, disaster (or at best public humiliation) tracks me down. There are too many to list here but a sampler could include:
Having the door handle fall off the outside of the bathroom when I was getting ready for school at the age of 12. This meant that I was stuck in there. All day. After my 3rd bath the hot water had run out and I was getting cold. The towels were damp and I had read every single ingredient list on every product in that bludi room. It was 8 hours later that my brother got home. I was eventually released after 8 hours and about oh, 14 mintues. Not because Joey needed tools or it was tricky to replace the door knob. Oh no. If he hadn’t have been sobbing with laughter he could’ve had me out of there in seconds flat. It is still brought up, now.
Another personal 'fave' of mine (not) is ending up at someone's house party in my mid 20’s. Had been out on the pop quite vigorously and was overtaken with the need for a number two… Now, before you chuckle at the possibilities you have no doubt already imagined, I must disappoint you – the toilet was available, clean and well stocked with paper. It was a nice, spacious loo in a terraced house. I think it had once been the back bedroom but had been converted to make a big, stripped-boards-and-roll-top bath room. So, there I am, sat taking in my surroundings and letting nature take its course when I hear the door being tried. 'I’m sorry,' I called out jovially, 'this seat it taken.' Yes, well, my good humour soon gave way to something all the more complicated and less sanguine as the door opened and in walked, without so much as a by your leave, a complete stranger (I should point out that I knew only one person in the house). Quite embarrassing, as you can imagine. He then, though, decided to usher in more or less every begger in the crowded party to point, laugh, gesture and, most viciously I thought, take a photograph. I had no opportunity to rush to the door as it was miles away, across an acre and a half of polished pine. When everyone had laughed their fill (including the vindictive b@stard I’d arrived with) I was eventually allowed to ‘finish things off.’ I left shortly afterwards.
I could recount the Petrol Station Announcement, the Dublin Hostel Walkabout, the Ripped-Up Plane Ticket Incident, the Mis-hearing of Quite what the Most Reverend Bishop of Llandaff Actually Said to Me Rumpus, the Missing the Last Bus to Catford Affair, the Embassy Youth Club Slapping Furore, The Spanish Rock Pool Debacle , and… oh dear sweet Lawd, I’d forgotten this one… The Walking into a Sapling on Brandreth Road Wearing a Mod Parka Charade: I was so embarrassed I thought I would just keep walking over it. I did, but that bludi tree straightened up most swiftly right up inside the back of my coat, leaving me partially crucified. The three blokes in the BristolHire van who’d slowed down to ask for directions were beside themselves. The van teetered up and down the curb several times before they eventually regained the ability to breath and drov…
Enough now. This can’t be doing me or my psyche any good at all. Suppression is a vital-if-potentially-harmful process of the mind but it is there for a reason.
Anyway, John and I got the tiles. After only a minor fracas at the checkout. It was the till that was at fault, not me, I tell you.
Good night.