In a land known as "dahn 'ere in 'Ampshire" lived a daft old fart who thought it would be a jolly jape to play chase with his young pussy.
Whilst chasing said young pussy up the garden he slipped on some wet grass and went arse over tip crash landing on his right elbow on what was part of the patio and is now crazy paving.
As the elbow swelled the daft old fart being of the male gender decided that if he ignored it, it would go away, three days later the elbow was the size and colour of a small pumpkin and the wiggley things on the end of his handie went numb he reluctantly went to see his general medic bloke who wrote a note saying how silly the daft old fart was and sent him (with note) to the most feared place in the area just over the border in Surrey-Grimley Dark.
The daft old fart managed to drive his carriage to the most feared place called Grimley Dark 'orspital and after many. many, many hours whilst watching the ransom on his carriage reach vast proportions was taken to have a magic picture taken and was relieved to find that the hard bits inside his elbow were still intact which meant that the organic mechanics didn't get their chance to slice and dice the damaged portion of his anatomy.
So after many, many many more hours (whilst the ransom on his carriage almost matched the deficit) the daft old fart was sent back to his Castle with a large paper bag full of pills and things and his arm encased in what seemed to be a drainpipe just to make it even more difficult to do "things".
What followed over the next four weeks were several more trips to his general medic bloke, more than three times several trips to the physiotherapy do-dah a couple of injections to the damaged elbow and the inability to blog.
Finally the drain pipe was removed, the pills ran out and his general medic bloke told him to sod orf the daft old fart was able to once again put fuctioning fingers to keyboard and produce his normal load of old bollocks.
So the rumours of my demise are greatly exagerated, and unfortunately for you I am still here...
And the moral of this sad tale-if you are a daft old fart and want to chase young pussy-wear spiked running shoes.
Angus
4 comments:
Well, old fart. I'm glad to hear that we faithful old followers had not seen the last of you! Glad you're back.
On reading that, I at first read it as if 'His Maj' had hurt his front leg and was orf to the dreaded vets. I must be going round the twist. Old age is catching up on me.
I did the same things with Hazel. She loved to be chased, and best of all she loved playing 'hide & seek'.
I had to hide and she used to creep up on me. Of course on 'being found' I used to run after her, but I never fell over.
Cheers.....Bernard.
Have to admit, concern was building, you daft old sod. It won't happen to me; my running days are long over.
I can imagine you were experiencing some pretty dreadful emotions at at the citadel of dread, and I'm pleased the injury was limited to soft tissue.
At your age it's about time you stopped chasing pussy and let it come to you.
Kindest.
I am glad to hear all is well :-)
This incident reminds me of my Mum walking to the outpatients with a broken toe and also walking half way back because she missed the bus!!!
I hope your arm is back to its former self soon :-)
Morning all:
Still here Bernard the bonkers, his Maj is overflowing with health and energy-unlike moi, but I have bought a pair of spikes-just in case:)
You can't get rid of me that easily Blackdog old friend, grimly dark was a bit harrowing and despite cutting back on nurses they have managed to find £22 million for a "new" A&E, day surgery thing and a helipad....
In days of yore I had to beat young pussy orf with a stick, now I have to hit them with a baseball bat to get them to hang around-must be the saggy bits and the smell of.....linement:)
Many thanks CherryPie, getting there but I think a few more elbow injections are on the menu:(
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