Month: Aug 2021

It’s All Downhill From Here

In case you are thinking I’m becoming maudlin, don’t worry. I had a dream, now it sounds like I’m about to start a speech. I had a dream last night in which I was off-roading… in my wheelchair! Unusual, no, impossible more like. I was on my own up a mountain, I say a mountain, but it was a very large hill with rocky sides. I was enjoying myself, whizzing along, wind in my hair. The long dark brown hair blowing behind me; it was a dream. Even though it was a muddy and rutted path, I didn’t notice; it felt smooth. I was looking left and right over the scenery. Swinging my shoulder length hair around; it must have been the 1970’s. Mind you, I was the age I am now, 25ish. I could see the sea over one shoulder; that’s one of those sentences you have to see written down. The other side was miles of open fields. Then I came to a gentle slope downwards so I started to descend.

You need to understand something about a power wheelchair. Well, about my power wheelchair anyway. It is heavy, it weighs around 250kg with me in it. I think it’s around 240kg on its own. Wake up! So, my quarter of a tonne wheelchair was gathering speed down this muddy slope. The incline increased and so did the speed. It increased more as the wheels slipped and I was suddenly at the point of no return. It was too steep to try and turn around, the chair would have tipped over and stopping the power did not stop the chair. I was on a ride to the bottom of that slope. I increased speed and anxiety. The chair picked up mud and rocks. One way or another I was going to the bottom of that slope; it was all downhill from there; don’t you love it when a blog title makes sense? I was terrified and the earlier joy had disappeared. I think we can call it a nightmare.

The funny thing was that as I descended that hill, uncontrolled and rather fast, I did not get hurt. The wheelchair did not turn over or crash. It was as if I was the hero in a comic book movie, I survived. I would say I walked away from it… but hey. It wasn’t a nightmare after all, it was a fun dream.

I don’t normally dream about being in a wheelchair. Even though I have had a wheelchair part time since 2007, that’s 24 years and full time since 2012, that’s 9 years. You would think my mind would see me as a wheelchair user and I would dream of being in one; but no, I dream of me walking. Actually, I dream of running, swimming and even flying; not in a plane. Funny thing the unconscious brain. I wonder if this is the beginning of a series of wheelchair adventures. Where to next? Wheeling along the bottom of the ocean? Flying in a wheelchair with ET on my lap? Wheeling through a deep, dark forest? The sky’s the limit. Actually, it’s not. Wheeling on the surface of the moon? Wheeling around the rings of Saturn? Let’s not get carried away.

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Sorry

Some people think us Brits are far too apologetic. I’m sorry, but that’s just not true. I hardly ever apologise. In fact, and I do apologise if this offends you, but for me I’d much rather be blunt and to the point. The idea that Brits go around saying sorry all the time is quite frankly silly and I’m sorry if that offends you. I was chatting to Mary the other day, I said, “Oh sorry, is that your foot, I think I’m going to write a blog about the idea that Brits are too apologetic.” Mary said, “I’m sorry, you’re going to write about what?” Which I think about proves my point.

Now if you will just bear with me for one more minute. Is that OK, I don’t want to hold you up unnecessarily, do say if it’s too much? My last point is that we have been very unfairly portrayed in movies. We haven’t? Oh! Well in that case, I’ll leave that point. I feel like I have made my point strongly, hopefully not too strongly, I don’t wont to be offensive and clearly. It was, I hope you will agree, a point well worth making.

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Blondes Have More Fun

I don’t know if it’s true that blondes have more fun, not being one myself. I have a fair bit of fun and I have dark brown hair. Stop it, you can go and stand in the corner for that comment. I have lots of thick dark brown hair left, it’s just hiding at the back of my head. I can see it in great clumps on the floor, well maybe not great clumps, but little clumps, whenever Mary cuts my hair. I have asked if Mary she could be more selective in her cutting; but apparently that’s not possible. For some crazy reason, hair trimmers cannot differentiate between grey and coloured hair. There is a massive market opportunity there for an entrepreneur. I am assuming ‘The Apprentice’ on BBC will be back next year? If so, you have your product range ready, or maybe you could pitch it to ‘The Dragons’. Are they still going? Of course you can always just sell it down the market. “Miracle ‘air cutter. Seein’ is belivin’. I won’t sell it fer fifty, I won’t sell it fer forty-five. Once in a lifetime deal, just for you darlin’ twenty-five nicker, come on, get ‘em before they all go.”

There is a perfectly rational reason that got me thinking about blondes and, no, it wasn’t that one. So go and wash your mouth out with soap. It was a computer card game. Well, I say it was a computer card game, but actually it was on my tablet. I was playing a free card game. I have discussed this before, if they are going to call it ‘free’ make it free. I would rather pay a small amount than be bombarded with adverts. Most of the time I have to watch some poor king trying to escape impossible traps. Or a lady leaves her husband and set up home on her own with a baby; it feels like a daytime soap. Today, I was treated to a submarine full of zombies; no, don’t ask why, you’ll only encourage the game makers. Then there was an impossible puzzle. I say it was impossible, it actually looked quite easy. But the caption claimed, “Only 1% of people can complete this puzzle.” I looked at it and thought, “Good luck to them, looks boring, I reckon blondes have more fun.”

Now don’t ask me what made me think that. Something about what a dull game it was, matching patterns on a massive puzzle. I was probably thinking, “who would want to do it,” or “how do they find 1% of people who can be bothered?” Either way, I guess I thought blondes had more fun than anyone doing that puzzle. But then how would I know. Maybe blondes have a very boring life. It could be that the expectation of having a fun life as a blonde, is so high, that all they actually find is disappointment. Perhaps all the blondes out there are sitting doing this very shape matching puzzle, because it’s the most exciting thing they have done all year. Maybe blondes have a saying, “red heads have more fun.” I have no wish to cast any nasturtiums, no wait, that’s a flower. I have no wish to cast any dispersions, still wrong, I have no wish to say anything wrong; that’ll do. After all, blondes are just like the rest of us, well, except being blonde of course. They have their good days and their bad days. If they want to do a puzzle; I will leave them to it. After all, I could be wrong, it’s been known. Maybe that boring looking puzzle is a lot of fun and the blondes doing it are having a lot of fun.

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When Did I Become Old?

We had Mary’s niece and children visit yesterday. Two wonderful lads, 8 and 5 years old. As I watched them play, chatted to them and saw their excitement at discovering new things, it brought back memories of our children at their age.

I remembered, being a young dad, rushing around, caring for our children, playing with them. I also remembered the times we visited elderly relatives. How they used to sit looking on and how extremely old they seemed. Yesterday, I had a moment of realisation, I am now the elderly relative, sitting, looking on. I was quite taken aback. I adjusted the blanket on my knee, put the hearing trumpet to my ear, rearranged my dentures, and thought, “I am nothing like they were.” I don’t really have dentures, just far fewer teeth than I started out with.

When did I become old? It has rather snuck up on me. Age seems to be like a stealth plane. You don’t see it coming and then, without any warning, it’s there. I have been merrily pootling along as a young man for years, many years, years and years. Then without a by your leave, age dropped on me like a ton of bricks. I wouldn’t mind, but it gave me no warning. It’s not as if I gradually showed any signs of age. I have kept my youthful good looks, my full head of hair, my wrinkle free skin, my toned body, my imagination and sense of humour all this time. Then overnight I wake up to being an old man. I call it unfair, grossly unfair. How can I possibly be old?

It seems that now is the time. I have held it off long enough. All the old men did it when I was younger. Time for a comb over and Grecian 2000 hair dye. Not sure about the couple of wrinkles; Polyfilla maybe? Actually, not sure what I can comb over, I don’t have any hair left; details, minor details. Do they still sell Grecian 2000? Still, I’ve heard it said, “age is just a number.” Now where did I put the Pollyfilla?

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Saving The Best ‘Till Last

I realised the other day, why I was always picked last in sports at school. Yes, it’s that recent I can still remember it. The team captains were saving the best ‘till last. Why had I never realised this before? It’s so obvious. I have gone through my life feeling inadequate, as if being left ‘till last meant I was no good at sport. Now, I have finally recognised the truth. I am an Olympian, a champion. I should really be in Tokyo or at least the Paralympic Games. Where do I sign up? When do I leave? Wait a minute, all those emails and letters I have binned or deleted, that tell me I’m a winner; they were right. There was me thinking they were spam. The world has turned right way up at last. What a great relief, I can finally see my full potential. Who needs weeks of counselling, years of feeling inadequate and useless? If you were picked last at school then you are also the best, the crème de la crème, the bees’ knees, the top of the list, head of the heap, the king of the hill, those little town blues… why does everything have to turn into a song? You get the point; you are fabulous, amazing, brilliant, a winner. Come on all of you, join me in the winner’s enclosure. Crack open the champagne, leap up onto the podium (virtually in my case), get ready for the accolades.

You won’t believe this, but it has been suggested to me that I have a silly sense of humour. I know, daft, eh? Well, all I can say is, I’m off to get ready for the awards ceremony. Or do I need to compete first? Actually, while I’ve got your attention, how do you play tennis, or high diving, or sailing, I think I remember about cycling. Mind you, I can’t actually do that any more. Come to think about it, I’ve never taken part in any world class sports before. Still, that doesn’t matter, because I can’t physically do any sport anyway, I’m sure they will just reward the thought and passion. I have a positive attitude; that counts for a lot. By the way at what point do I get awarded the gold medal?

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