Week 15: The Overweight Spiderman

The trouble with spending a week doing little more than sitting down is Thinking. Thinking is unquestionably Dangerous and leads to Thoughts. Now I don‘t know about you, but I try to avoid Thoughts because they usually get me into some sort of bother. But when you are carrying a terrible Sporting Injury such as I, the sofa becomes your world and Thoughts happen.

The primary Thought I’ve been having is “What shall I eat next?”. And then “Who can fetch it for me?”. Now this is a Dangerous Thought on two levels. Firstly, the Thought is a heavy one and leads to Weight. To be precise, three months of weight that had been lost has now been found again. In one week. Secondly, this Thought leads to other people Thinking, and that thinking involves Potential Violence against Your Person. Apparently, calling to Gin (the Mrs, so called because of the intravenous drip she has set up to keep her topped-up over night) every 20 minutes “because I need a cuppa and feeling a bit peckish” is enough to drive a person to drink. And stabbing.

And then there are Even More Dangerous Thoughts. Now these really are to be Avoided. Insidious in nature, they set you off on a path where you can become Lost and Confused. Think of Bilbo Baggins making his way into Mirkwood; he can‘t see where he is going, he can‘t see where he has been, but he knows there are Things Lurking waiting to catch him. And this, dear chums, is the Even More Dangerous Thought that I’ve been having: I no longer understand the world. The rules are changing by the day. Everything feels polarised (Brexit, No Brexit, Lockdown, No Lockdown, Climate Change, No Climate Change, Statue Dismantling, No Statue Dismantling). What was once simple, is no longer. Take gender; you can no longer refer to someone as a “he” or “she” as they might be a “they”, or possibly one of 116 other types. And the thing is, who am I to suggest that any of these new rules that I don’t understand are wrong? I’m Old and they are New, and the world has a habit of turning even though we are stuck in the same place (in my case, on the sofa, confused).

Thinking. Don‘t do it. Or leave it to others who Are More Clever. Stick to beer and kittens.

Week 15 then. One characterised by the noise “thump, thump-thump”. Or for those that can‘t hear, a bloke (me) trying to use a crutch to protect his Poorly Ankle. This has caused a great deal of amusement for BT (for “Boy Teenager”) who has been utterly remorseless in his micky-taking. He has taken to greeting me with a shout of “Oi, Overweight Spider-Man, do this!” whilst hopping on his left foot. I can’t do that mate as that would be on my bad foot. But I can trim your allowance.

Good News! BT has continued to go out to the park with a handful of chums; four times in a fortnight. Four more times than in the previous to years. Hopefully it will continue.

GT (for “Girl Teenager”) has had a tense week waiting for a “surprise”gift to arrive from her friend. Every knock on the door over three days, she was there shouting “Is it for me? Is it for me?”. This would be relatively unremarkable but for the fact that Gin had a birthday this week (just the one. She’s not like the Queen). To say that there has been a steady flow of gin bottle parcels arriving by post would be an injustice to the words “steady flow”. Honestly, we should all have clubbed together and hired a tanker.

And that brings me to the end of the week where we had a little birthday celebration in the garden with four near-and-dear local chums. God it was good to see them all, even if slightly odd that they had to bring their own booze, snacks, glasses and cool boxes. Four hours flew by as the World Turned and we Talked Bollocks. Wonderful.

And with that, the end of the week came with a posh birthday tea for Her Maj. Lobster with black pudding in a rich creamy, garlicky sauce. The book said it would take two hours. Fours hours later and several bags of emergency crisps, it was done. As they say up north, it was alreet.

And so we enter Week 16, the last week before Gin returns to school full-time and I try to get my sore foot and over-weight body back on to the Carbon Steed. And hopefully one in which Thinking Time will be reduced.

Love and elbow-grease,

Mr H.