I’ve decided to pen a supplementary narrative today. The driver behind this atypical decision being my personal requirement of the sanctuary I find in the company of pen and paper. A consequence of a close family member recently receiving devastating, although not completely unexpected, news regarding a medical related matter.
I’m not going into details of this news via the medium of blogging. What I will say, though, is despite the receipt of the prognosis being unsurprising, hearing confirmation from medics of what we’ve feared for a while has left the clan numb. The spiralling diminishment of the family members health over the past few weeks has caught us all on the hop.
Anyway, enough about my family problems already. This narrative isn’t to invite you to a pity party, moreover to provide me a brief distraction from the challenging circumstances alluded to above. I don’t want pity, although I won’t say no to a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc or four cans of San Miguel cerveza.
Today I’ve encountered the unusual experience of inadvertently triggering remote control devices with parts of my anatomy. Firstly when visiting hospital, as I hugged our poorly clan member mid-dessert consumption, my thigh caught the bed remote. This resulted in the back of the bed rising, causing the patient fleeting discomfort. Understandably, they weren’t happy at my cloddish behaviour, in particular the fact it almost caused them to swallow their ice cream spoon.
Secondly, back at home, after dropping my keys mid-locking the garage door, I caught the key ring fob in my hand as it dropped. Unfortunately, I hadn’t the keys on the fob under control; subsequently my car key swung toward my groin, hitting me in the testicles with such a force it unlocked my car.
I’m not party to what future security innovations are current being researched by car designers. However, if your pain threshold is low I’d urge caution if they ever introduce a gadget that allows remote entry to your vehicle by smashing it square onto your testicles……. Unless of course your a member of the fairer sex, when hopefully it won’t be as much of an issue.
I’ve noticed recently that I am becoming rather clumsier than previously. It’s no longer unusual to witness me banging into door frames, knocking drinks over and the manifestation of my hands frequently shaking. As a consequence, not only am I paying out lots of cash replacing ornaments/glasses, but I’ve also lost my job as head of surgery at the Ainsley Scragg Vasectomy Clinic.
I was dismayed to have my employment terminated at the one-stop clinic where they guarantee leaving patients won’t contain nuts. Or indeed be adversely affected by remote car keys designed to unlock a vehicle by painful collision with your testicles.
I’m unsure what’s the root cause of my newly acquired ungainliness. I’ve narrowed it down to a normal middle-age affliction, or my wife Karen’s suggestion of the illness Not Very Well At All Disease. I appreciate my spouse’s input, however in the absence of certainty that her proffered illness exists, I’m leaning towards the former.