I fell over today. I mean properly fell over. If only someone had been videoing it I could have made £250 from "You've Been Framed" (and now Harry Hill is presenting it I'd have had a way of getting the tape to the front of the queue and definitely broadcast).
It's funny because I had been considering the possibility earlier in the day. I was wearing some old shoes and the laces are always coming undone. My girlfriend noticed and told me to be careful not to trip over them. I sneered at her, "I'll be fine. I am a 37 year old man. I think I can cope with having an undone lace. I'll do them up in a minute." Then as we walked down the long broken escalator at Shepherd's Bush tube I considered what a disaster it would be if I (or someone else) happened to tread on my shoe lace now. I might go bowling down all these stairs, taking out quite a few innocent passers-by as if they were so many ten-pins. It was a scary pause for thought, but I'm 37. I can cope with an undone lace. I got to the bottom of the escalator unscathed, with no bones broken and no blood gushing from a wound in my head. I did my lace up when I got on the tube though.
It came undone a few more times during the day, whilst I did a minimal bit of Christmas shopping. But finally I tied it so that it was secure. Perhaps knowing I was safe from disaster caused me to relax. I don't know. But as I walked back from the tube station, carrying two big bags of presents (mainly for myself - I always end up finding stuff that I want for me, rather than presents for other people, like I am some kind of rubbish sit-com character), I stepped down from the kerb to get round some people coming the other way, but as I tried to remount the pavement something went wrong. I'm not quite sure what happened, even though as with these things it all happened in a bit of slow motion. My foot seemed to slide and I was unbalanced by my shopping and unable to right myself with my hands. I attempted to recover my balance, but it was too late and I found myself falling heavily onto the paving slabs, my right knee taking the brunt of the force. The whorish force of gravity had defeated me again.
There is nothing worse than falling over (in dignity terms at least, possibly having your head blown off my a surface to air missile is one thing that is worse than falling over in other ways - though that's the only one I can think of at the moment- oh, and being trapped in a hole for three days), so the instant I was down it was more important than anything that I got straight up and carried on, as if nothing had happened. Alas, a couple approaching me definitely saw the event, and whilst making no attempt to assist me, they did not laugh openly at my impressive comedy fall (at least until they had walked past). I am sure there were several people who enjoyed the sight of a fat man losing his footing, attempting to regain it, failing and then hurriedly getting to his feet and attempting to look dignified.
I had gone quite a few steps before I realised just how much the incident had hurt. It had been quite a heavy impact and my knee was throbbing and I guessed there would be blood. It was this pain that made me realise how long it had been since I had fallen so spectacularly. I couldn't remember really experiencing anything like this since school (though I am sure it must have happened in the interim), when scuffed knees and ripped trousers were a regular occurence.
In fact it was only once I popped into Blockbusters that I noticed I had actually ripped my trousers. This was annoying, but not as bad as it could have been as they were an old pair and were already on their literal last legs. I need to buy more trousers anyway as I am too fat to fit in most of my current pairs all of a sudden.
I was overwhelmed with sympathy for parents everywhere, as I appreciated how annoying it must have been when I came home from school with another pair of trousers ruined after some playground high-jinks. So that's why your mum and dad tried to keep you in shorts for so long. Human flesh is much cheaper to repair than cloth. That's quite a chilling bit of parental reasoning isn't it? It's better that our son cuts up his knees than spoils these expensive trousers. Understandable though. I suppose I must have realised this before, but it came home to me today as I considered the expense I was going to have to undertake for my clumsiness.
There's quite an impressive scab forming on my knee as well. Will it go crusty, or all weepy and yellow? Only time will tell.
