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Friday, 15 February 2013

Special Valentine's Moment of Oops, with added Ouch

Valentine's Day is supposed to be the day you get red roses and heart-warming moments of mushiness.

Since I wasn't expecting that, I managed to treat myself to a bright red car and several pain-killers and assorted bandages.

I left the flat and headed to the station. Although there's only one main road that gets you there, as a pedestrian you cross a number of side roads. None of them have traffic lights or pedestrian crossings, but they aren't normally crazy-busy either, so although you get the odd moron who thinks stop-signs are for other people, it's not a huge issue.

I checked the road I was about to cross (I always do this, because I know how fast things go pear-shaped around me) and stepped into it. Halfway across I walked into a bright red shiny thing, and found myself cart-wheeling over a car bumper.

I looked up to see a balding gentleman in glasses, face white, mouth opened in a horrified "O", staring down at me.

I apologised for falling over his car, and went home to change my trousers and boots. (Puddles and work wear do not combine well.)

I have no idea where the bloody thing came from. I didn't hear it, but most modern cars are pretty quiet, and I definitely didn't see it. There's a chance he pulled out of a parking space after I stepped into the road, saw me, and stopped, but I honestly couldn't say.

I was wearing gloves, so I didn't even really graze myself - had itchy palms for most of the day from where I landed, but that was it.

I could feel the bruises starting, and I had a good case of the shakes, but got into work only 30 minutes late, which I put in the win column.

Unfortunately, my body disagreed.

By the end of the day I had a strapped up wrist (bruises, swelling), a strapped up ankle (more swelling!) and a hand that looked like it belonged to a cartoon, and I was limping like that guy from The Usual Suspects. Tres, tres svelte.

To ensure I damaged every joint on the same day, I managed to knock my knee on my desk drawer, and taught my team-mates how to swear in Afrikaans.

There's no breakage involved (been there, done that). There is a hell of a lot of swelling, despite making friends with ice-packs and lots of anti-inflammatories, and going by the fact that I couldn't get out of bed without whimpering this morning I'd say I've pulled a few muscles. My calf muscles have also gone on strike.
I look like I've been punched by a pissed-off rainbow in a few selected places, and right now I'm pretty grateful for the additional hip padding, since it's a pretty awkward place to hurt. Sitting down currently requires advance planning worthy of a military operation. I'm not even going to talk about getting into and out of the bath last night, but there's a good chance I traumatised two bars of soap and a washcloth in the process.

The annoying thing is that I managed something similar years ago (although technically the car was parked outside an office building, and it was a black porsche. I seem to have lowered my standards as I've grown older.) and back then I brushed myself off, and apart from a couple of bruises I had no issues afterwards.

Once again, definitive proof that ageing messes with the ability to bounce. On the bright side, however, I now know I can do an assisted cart-wheel. Just don't ask me to land well.