Monday, 10 July 2017

The streak...

I fell over yesterday, and I'm blaming the drink. 

I hadn't actually started drinking.  We had just arrived at a local cricket pitch to watch son number two play a local Derby, and I had prepared a stonker of a picnic, as Miss R was joining us. Three cooler bags were full of rolls, cheeses, dips and salad, with Eton Mess neatly tucked away with sponge cakes and chocolate biscuits.  The fourth cooler bag contained the drink.  This contained several bottles of my favourite Red Dog Cider, and also had a bottle of orange juice in it just in case someone wanted a drink which wasn't alcoholic.

Getting to the designated picnic area, there was a lot of milling around,as we tried to decide where was best to sit. Amidst all the to-ing and fro-ing, I managed to step backwards and fell over the drinks cooler bag, twisting my calf quite spectacularly.

Plonking down onto the nearest folding chair, I had to stay there for the the next four hours while we watched the cricket.  Desperate to go to the loo which was a ten minute walk away, I just had to wait, as I couldn't stand up, let alone walk that far.  Miss R suggested that she strap me to her bike's crossbar and cycle down to the loos, but even this wasn't possible.  Feeling rather sorry for myself, and wistfully watching other family members head down to the loo, the husband knelt down in front of me, and started squeezing my calf.  When I yelped, narrowly avoiding slapping him around his newly stitched head, he nodded his head sagely.  'Mmmm.  You've got what I had.  You're going to be in a hell of a lot of pain for the next few weeks'.

'Why thank you Doctor', I said, 'now piss off and get me a cider'.

The drink took my mind off the cricket which was just as well, as it was slightly boring to say the least.  Again, Miss R came up with another suggestion, this time, to liven up proceedings.  She suggested streaking across the pitch and vaulting over the wicket, sneakily stealing the bails without breaking her stride, but we managed to talk her out of it thank goodness.  I'm not sure that her nephew (poor son number two) would have been particularly impressed, especially as he was on wicket duty.

So I am on crutches.  This has its good points as I am unable to do anything which involves putting one foot in front of the other, and it also provided me with a legal weapon to brandish when my lackeys aren't quick enough with mugs of tea.

But boy, am I hacked off...

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