Well, I think I've arrived at last....at the bottom, I mean.
It's taken 47 years to get here, 47 years which have been traumatic, painful and at times shocking, but I'm certain that this time, metaphorically speaking, I can feel sediment beneath my fingertips.
Allowing for a complete absence of memory about my first three years on the planet, I suppose it started to go wrong when I was four and James Bradwell slammed an open drain lid down on my hand (long story). I almost lost three fingers that day!
Then, when I was 11, the love of my life, Sian Fellows, told me that she didn't fancy me. I think I had the last laugh, however, as she went on to become a London-based shipping lawyer, earning £150,000-a-year, until she lost her job and was awarded £3 million by an industrial tribunal (Seriously! It made the front page of the Daily Nazi!) She had the chance to forgo all that and spend her life with me, my four dogs, my debts and my chronic bowel condition but she chose otherwise. I bet she's kicking herself now!
When I was 16 I wasn't picked to play for the First XI football team, when I was certain I was going to get on the teamsheet, and I felt like the ceiling of my life had caved in. I went on to spectacularly fail my A-Levels a year or so later and then life really kicked in - and did it kick!
Fast forwarding over the ensuing 30 years saw my hair fall out, I piled on the pounds, sport became merely something I watched on the telly, my marriage spiralled down the U-bend and then, just seven weeks ago, I snapped that tendon in my knee and was left a plastered near-cripple!
I was beginning to think that marked the seabed of my existence but then life had another googly to bowl.
I have been staying over in Small Town East again at Ed Straker and Lady Di's place so that I can get into the office near their home and, because of my temporary disability, I have to sleep on the settee in the lounge, not being able to climb their flights of near-vertical stairs.
So, at 7.30 yesterday morning, there I lay, slumbering away when I began to feel a fine mist descending on my face. I thought little of it until another cloud of moisture hit me. I was a little startled and for one moment thought that perhaps I had fallen asleep in a skip in the street the night before (Oh yes! It has happened in the past) and it was raining. Then another fine soaking came down and an almost overpowering whiff hit my nostrils. That's when I started to panic and so my eyes shot open and through a haze I looked up to see the Strakers' 10-year-old daughter Molly standing over me.................squirting me with Febreeze fabric conditioner!!
"What the 'eck are you doing, Molls?" I asked, not unreasonably.
"You stink!!!" came the reply.
So, there you have it. I have now reached a stage in life where, not only do women think my personal hygiene is not all that it could be, I need to be deloused every morning with fabric freshener by a small child!! This surely is the bottom?
I would send life to Grantham or the passage of time but then I wouldn't be able to write and no-one would be able to read this rubbish so I'll hold fire on it.....for the time being.
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10 comments:
Fight Back Pither! Spray her back,preferably with something vile. We have the perfect thing. The juice from our wormery. If really stinks!
Cheer up its all up from now on.
BW
Thanks BW,
Yes, I like the idea - "In Which Pither Declares Stench War on 10-year-old!" You couldn't send me a couple of gallons of your worm juice, could you?
Dear Reg,
do not despair. Life has its ups and downs, in your case it simply seems you were born at your peek, and must therefor go down since then.
Dont worry, look at it from the bright side. You have found a new way, to freshen up. And you dont even have to do it yourself.
And who says, that a divorce is a bad thing, or that you have failed. It simply means, you have finally come to your senses.
Your friend in need, allways ready to give you a word of consolation.
Aljaž
Dear Ajaz,
Thanks for the kind words and support. Yes, I think you are right. My life has been very much like Orson Welles' directing career - started off brilliantly and then became progessively more shit!!!
Some people would pay good money to be squirted with Febreeze by a small child. Or so Chris Langham tells me.
i hate to laugh at your misfortune, but i am.
and i hate it. i really do. every minute of my laughter. yup.
well i do.
At least you have never spawned impertinent ten year olds. Parents like this will be the first up against the wall when the revolution comes.
Dave,
But Chris would only want to be sprayed if it was for "research purposes".
FN,
Don't worry. Feel free to have a laugh on me. I would laugh myself if it wasn't for the fact that a) I'm crying too much and b) my mouth won't open because it's glued up with Febreeze.
Vicus,
I'm with you on the glorious revolution. Trouble is, the only wall long enough for my initial candidates is in China!!
::sprays dettol::
::sprays TCP::
::sprays, erm, her favourite parfum:: (something or other by Ghost, bought in duty free, just in time for Halloween, mainly cos the bottle was a nice shape)
::sprays calomine lotion:: (well, you never know)
::sprays sun tan lotion:: (a girl can live in hope)
::sprays Lyclear:: (there are things that you may not know about ten-year-olds, dear Mr P. . . been itching the back of your neck recently? scratching your head behind the ears, perhaps? you thought it couldn't get worse, but - oh yes!! - it could get even worse)
*scratches head and exits*
Reg
Your welcome to a couple of bottles, however I have just looked up the regulations concerning the sending of noxious substances in the post on the helpful Defra website and decided it would be easier to send you a contract killer instead. Less red tape anyway.
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