One of my Facebook friends is saying “I fell over” is not much of a story!
Whilst it is up there in the top#10 of painful events I’ve ever endured, I truly wish I could tell it another way.
Maybe I should have chosen one of these options:
- I got hit by low flying Archaeoraptor that had flown through a rip in the time-continuum.
- My attempt to teach bath towels how to tango ended up in me tripping over onto my face into a bowl of petunias.
- You should see the other guy. Before he knocked me flat on my face, I … um, I … well, you don’t want to know. Your lunch needs to stay down.
- The wife and I were … wait, wait, NSFW!
- Seriously, Whilst photographing a horizon on a sand-dune at Normanville beach, I stepped into a soft-spot of sand and tumbled down – end over end. I’m surprised to have landed on my bum, but not before twisting every limb, fracturing an arm, screwing up my right ankle and leaving painful abrasions down the right side of my face.
Option 1 is hardly likely, yet proof that I watch too much TV! Option 2 tells you that I have read ‘The Hitchhikers Guide to the Universe‘ one too many times. Option 3 is what most men would say. But do you seriously see me getting into a fist-fight? No, not likely. Option 4 is an amusing thought. Dreaming!
Whilst option 5 actually looks feasible, it’s a complete lie – except for the injuries. How would I answer these questions?:
Where are the photographic results? How did my camera survive without a dent? Where was my wife when all this happened? What was I doing there so late in the night
… Oh, gawd, that’s all too hard! (BTW: The image attached was shot in 2007 at Normanville!)
About now ‘falling over’ is looking good.
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