I have always been clumsy. I have always had the innate ability to walk into what appears to be an empty room and bump my toe on the smallest and only object on the floor. I’m like a magnet for obstacles. Sometimes I don’t even need an object. I’ve been known to trip over things that don’t actually exist.
This whole clumsy thing has escalated since the medically mysterious nerve nonsense in my legs. Now, because I have difficulty lifting my feet, I have taken clumsy to a whole new level. You could say, I have elevated clumsy to an art form reminiscent of Jackson Pollack.
Today, for instance, I had two clumsy episodes that really annoyed me.
In the bathroom I have a Toilet Book. This is to fill the essential reading time that crops up throughout the day. At the moment I’m reading the excellent Anxious People by Swedish author Fredrik Bachman.
The volume is one of those outsized ones. It is bigger than a paperback. Because of the size, I have to have it propped up in the narrow wall cupboard next to the loo. Just enough of the book hangs over the edge of the little shelf it sits on for me to knock it with my elbow when I’m forced to steady myself. Normally this isn’t a problem but, today, my elbow knocked the book into the toilet.
Fortunately, the house has a hairdryer. I managed to dry the volume out before it grew too swollen with liquid. I’m quite used to acting fast in these sorts of emergency situations.
Then, later in the day, I was filling a container with hazelnuts. Not satisfied with them being in the container, my left hand decided to knock it flying, sending hundreds of hazelnuts bouncing and scattering across the kitchen floor.
Fortunately, the day held enough pleasure to help me get over the pain of my clumsiness.
For one thing I found another discarded bicycle…
…and, for another, I had a delightful Zoom call with Andrew, my Starbucks chauffeur friend. We spent a delightful half hour chatting about the benefits of Sweden and how the baristas at Starbucks are coping with the newest restrictions in Farnham.
He told me how he wanted to be a professional eulogist in his spare time. The idea would be that he’d step in and give eulogies at funerals if the nearest and/or dearest, couldn’t manage it. I suggested that, as well as cheering up the congregation, he could also drive the vicar to the chapel.
We agreed he had a bright future ahead of him.
Almost as bright as the Christmas Goat on the roundabout at Trollbäcken Centrum. When it was first put there, long before Christmas, it was plain and wooden, more reminiscent of a saw-horse than a Christmas Goat. Then, at some point, and mysteriously, it was painted lurid green and had a whole bunch of Hawaiian leis draped around its neck.
My apologies for the photograph. The roundabout is some distance away from the bus stop and my hands were trembling with the cold while, at the same time, trying to hold my phone steady enough to take the zoomed shot. Even so, it’s clear that the Christmas Goat is quite shocked at its appearance. Or maybe its feet are just very, very cold.
