Friday, February 18, 2005

Just A Memory *

What I thought was a mere interlude in my otherwise very lengthy last post has given people much merriment. I thought, therefore, that I would provide a more detailed description of the day's events. But, before I go on, found myself watching The Weakest Link this afternoon and, in case I forget later, I'll pass this one on for Dumb Britain material.

"Ann Robinson: Adding two consonants to the word baseball will form the word
for which other sport?
Contestant: Football"

Anyway, back to the story.

Late July 2003. Reidski was about to begin a week's leave as he was going to Irvine with 'er indoors and the boy to attend my mum's 70th birthday celebrations the next day. Beautiful day, sunshine beaming all day, I was thirsty. As I finished work at lunchtime, decided to meet up with an old friend (and ex girlfriend) for lunch. Lunch turned into quite a few glasses of wine in that area of London whose name I don't know - north of proper West End, west of Tottenham Court Road and south of Camden. I'm sure someone can tell me what the area is called. Anyway, finally got home at around 7pm and sat and drank another few glasses of white win with 'er indoors. The boy, whose birthday it was earlier in the week for which main present was bike, and his friend decide to go out for a ride on their wheels. It was around 9pm and, although it was still well light, thought I'd go out with them (particularly as 'er indoors had her mate round and I was being a bit of a drunken pest). Thought I wouldn't keep up with them on foot so had the bright idea of going on the boy's scooter (that's a kiddie scooter, non-motorised one, by the way - you know, the kind you see CHILDREN out on all the time).

Kids and Reidski made their way up to Telegraph Hill park - yes, one of the highest points in south London and where you can get the most beautiful view of this great city. Reidski follows them. In the park, the route the boys take goes down a very steep path. I tentatively follow, but think twice as the path is very very very steep. Alcoholic stupidity then takes over as Reidski decides: "Fuck it, it's not as if I can do any damage." Reidski is an arsehole for thinking such thoughts, however, as, on the descent of this very very very steep path, scooter, going at a phenomenal speed, hits a rut and skids out of control, Reidski comes flying off and proceeds to use his face, bare arms and bare legs (it was a hot day, I was wearing t-shirt and shorts) as the brakes. Reidski sat up in a complete daze as some teenagers came running over to see if I was alright and bloke from across the road who had been casually watching the Parklife also intervenes. "Fahkin 'ell mate. You're in a roight fahkin state, mate!" says one of the teenagers with very worried look on this coupon. Blood is pouring from my face at this point, as well as from the cuts on various other parts of my anatomy. My only concern is that the boy (as in son) and his friend, who around 100 yards away and ready to come over, don't see this gruesome sight. So I keep repeating: "Don't let those boys come over." Parklife bloke then asks if he should call an ambulance and me, being brave (i.e. still drunk) say no, but could he phone 'er indoors to come and get me. She turns up in the car moments later with friend and they take one look and decide that a hospital visit is necessary.
I, by this time, have sobered up completely. Go home first to get cleaned up a bit and mother of the boy's friend, who is a first aider, tries to make assessment and doesn't take long to say that I should go immediately to hospital.
The most painful thing now is my ego, it has a rather bad bruise to it.
Anyway, off to hospital and receptionist says that a nurse will be on hand straight away. Reception casually asks if I was in a fight, to which I answer honestly. She simply shakes her head. Nurse takes me into room to clean up cuts and decide if further examination is necessary. She decides that I will definitely need to see doctor. She casually asks what happened. I answer honestly. She shakes her head and makes some comment about how men are really stupid. I'm thinking: "She's right!" Long wait on my own then ensues, but at least I have Big Brother's final night to keep me from boredom for the next three hours - not.
So, about 1am, I finally get to see doctor who applies many bandages and plasters to my injuries. He asks how it happened. I answer honestly. He shakes his head.
I get taxi outside to take me home. Taxi driver asks what know the rest.
Get up the next day with the intention of going to Irvine for my maw's birthday party, but it isn't too long before the aches and pains, to say nothing of the mess of my face, forces rethink and we decide not to go. Meanwhile, 'er indoors, being the sympathetic one, has taken photos of me lying in bed and his generally having a laught about it all - and I couldn't really blame her.
So pics are then being sent to all and sundry, with people being well sympathetic until they hear that Reidski was pissed out of his box and shouldn't have been coming down a very very very steep hill on a scooter built for a ten year old kid.
Tried to avoid leaving the house over the next few days, but had to eventually. And, not surprisingly, I got stared at quite a lot. I felt and looked like the Elephant Man.
So that is the story of me coming down a very very very steep hill on a scooter while being pissed out of my head. What a twat!

* Elvis Costello


Blogger john said...

First time I've laughed since the final whistle at Sixfields yesterday.

7:53 pm  
Anonymous Messalina said...

That area - isn't it Fitzrovia, darling? Sorry no photo of my arse to grace this comment, let alone my face.

9:45 am  
Blogger John said...

Reidski, that's a classic. I'm sure, on reflection, everyone thought better of you for not having been in a fight.

Used to live in Fitzrovia myself as a spotty stude. Do you remember the pub?

10:41 am  

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