Monday, May 15, 2006

Feeling 10 again

Childhood is over-rated. I relived a common childhood experience on Friday and it wasn't so great.

I was crossing the park to my bus stop where I rely on London Transport to get me to work. The buses are few and far between so if you see one begin to pull up you run hell for leather to make it.

In stilleto heels this does not present a problem. I've had years experience pelting down streets in 3 inch heels. However, this fresh Friday morning I was in a pair of flat, flappy, flipflop thingies.

See Shizue...

A small figure in an unbuttoned black trench coat is pootling along the lane. Figure catches sight of bus pulling up to bus stop.

(Watch closely and you can see the figure seems to be blaspheming).

Small figure begins to run down path at high speed.

Path does a 90 degree angle.

Small figure does not.

Frankly, I was never any good at geometry. My mind was fully engaged on the 'round the corner' concept, but my body was firmly convinced that my current trajectory was the way to go.

As a consequence I slipped in spectacular fashion: One leg flying into the air, Jazz hands on the way down, my black trench swirling round Phantom of the Opera stylee, a resounding thud, lengthy skid and an indignant OWWW!! of, well, actually more of mortification than pain. I must of looked like a demented Wayne Sleep.

Anyway, I limped to the bus which amazingly had waited for me, and boarded to be confronted by a dozen concerned faces.I mustered the dregs of my dignity and sat down. 10 minutes into the journey, an awfully naice lady touched my shoulder. 'I'm terribly sorry, but you seem to have, er...blood running down your leg?'

Oh great. You try and look cool while mopping up copious amounts of blood running down your pins.

It got even better at work. My Clinical Director who was to attend a meeting with me came into my office while I was gingerly dabbing at my leg. Being a typical clinician he took command at the first sight of blood.
"No, no, you need to get all the grit out - here, let me do it"
"OWWWWWW!!!! What the F**K d'you think you're doing, David?!?"
"Trust me...I'm a Doctor!"

Oh dear. He then proceded to chortle happily to himself saying how he'd always wanted to say that without getting a smack from a patient. He nearly didn't make it out the office alive.

I am now the not-so-proud possesor of a scabby knee the like of which I haven't had since I was about 10. Its at the crusty dark browny yellowy stage. I await with trepidation the bit where it will start to itch like buggery and I'll be consumed with that morbid need to pick at it.