Slippery When Wet

time for the walking stick?

My descent into old-man frailty began the other day. Standing in the shower, talking to George through the door, leaning on the wall.

Feet wet. Bath floor wet. Tiled wall wet. Hands wet.

This combination resulted in me tumbling in slow motion down the side of the wall with my feet coming out from underneath me in the opposite direction. Half a second later my legs are in the bath, my waist is jammed on the edge of the bath and my shoulder is on the bathroom floor.

Funny? It made George laugh, anyway.

(but it gave me a great excuse for being crap at pool.)

yeah, but that ain’t the worst

It was George’s birthday on Sunday, and after a drunken night out on Saturday I was the perfect gentleman to her, cooked breakfast, presents, hangover sympathy, that kind of thing. What would be really nice?

Flowers. Fresh from the market.

So I make my excuses and go to the market on the pretence of buying some fresh meat and cheese. Actually buy all the meat and cheese and get back on the tram without the flippin’ flowers.

Maybe I ain’t so perfect after all…

anymore photos yet?

No.

(So things have been busy here, but watch out soon for some new stuff. Honest.)