A cautionary tale concerning the fortunes, travails & mishaps involved in the celebration via libations of the 60th birthday of your humble scribe. last Saturday night, I set out in fine style accompanied by my two stalwart sons & the father in law of one of said sons. Our mission statement was to imbibe copious quantities of alcohol, sample the many & varied fleshpots of the fine city of Dunedin, (And they are many & divers) & generally celebrate my official old age in appropriate fashion.
This we did well & truly, ending the evening with the traditional sustenance ingested at the place of traditional sustanance, a guard against feeling the slightest pangs of hunger while homeward bound. Thus seriously fortified & well nourished, we set a course for transport & home, line abreast down the main thoroughfare all feeling 10 feet tall & immune to the slings & arrows of outrageous fortune. Thus did chivalrous feelings rise to the breast when a damsel in distress was spied. The young serf accompanying her was ill treating her sorely in both a physical & verbal fashion that caused us all much distress. Espying chance, we acted as one to separate said lout from young maiden & allow her respite.
Yea the young lout was most distressed at this & circumvented our line landing a mighty blow to the side of the head of one of our company, who is of similar age to myself & likewise ocularly impaired. He then took to his scrapers in fine style. My youngest son, being suitably enraged followed in hot pursuit. throwing verbal accusations & challenges in his wake, sadly to no avail. This is where the tragic part comes in. Not to be outdone, I added my efforts to the pursuit. Sadly, the top half of my body was able to move faster that the bottom half, resulting in a thunderous collision between myself & the footpath.
On rising the following morning, it became plainly evident that something was sorely amiss with the elbow of my sword arm. A visit to the local order of Hospitallers confirmed this. Fractures of the radial head & ulna & the wrapping of said joint in white fibrous stuff have rendered yours truly Hors De Combat for at least till the 16th., of September, when a visit to the fracture clinic should reveal all. A sad cautionary tale that proves that alcohol, good times & good company does not render one 10 foot tall & bullet proof
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2 comments:
*rolls eyes*
Rolls em back... Here you need em more than I do.
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