A whole lot of stupid going on

OK, seeing as I am, officially 150 years old, I often find myself thinking of the things I did when I was a kid, some good some not so good and some just plain bloody stupid!

I am not going to list every one of them here as you will be bored beyond belief (you might still be bored, but that is a risk I am willing to take…) but there have been a few episodes that come into my mind more often than others.

One such event occurred before I started primary school, when we lived in Crowborough.  Mum was doing the laundry one day and I thought I would give her a hand by putting some tea towels and hand towels in the sink of the downstairs toilet and turning on the tap.  I naturally assumed that I was going to get a gold star for this act of love and proudly went to find her and tell her what I had done.

Hmm, didn’t quite go to plan…

I don’t think Mum was in her happy place that day (well with me as her daughter, she was quite often as far away from her happy place as it was possible to be) and was just a teensy weensy bit pissed off that I had done that because the towels I was ‘washing’ were the clean replacements!  Oops!

WELL, I WAS ONLY ABOUT THREE AT THE TIME, AND NOT MY FAULT SHE HAD ALREADY PUT THE CLEAN TOWELS OUT!

I remember another time when I was playing in the garden after it had been raining.  I think that we might have been going somewhere so I was dressed up but I still wanted to go out and play.  The house had a small thin line of paving that went around the back and I thought that I would be clever and see if I could walk along it without losing my balance and falling.

Well, I think you might have guessed how this was going to pan out and yep, you would be right!  So, of course I lost my balance, slipped off the paving landing with a lovely splat full face onto a patch of wet, muddy grass.

And.

Ruined.

My.

Lovely.

Clean.

Possibly new.

Dress.

Hmm, I knew that I would not even get asked if I was hurt and I can’t remember if I cried but I think I cried anyway because there was every possibility that a smack would be coming in my direction so I thought it would be best to start the waterworks early – all bases covered.

I don’t remember Dad’s reaction to me appearing covered in mud, but Mum marched me off to my bedroom to get cleaned up and changed.

So, jump forward a few years…

I have never been able to walk in high heels.  I look like a drag queen that’s trying them out for the first time, you know; all bow legged and Dick Emery fashion and I think that this is partly because I have dislocated both my knees so many times over the years that it is really quite painful to try and walk in heels so I have given up trying.

The most painful physical memory for me is the first time I dislocated my right knee.  This was when we lived in Groombridge and I was still at primary school.  Yet again, I was playing in the garden, part of which was on a slope.

I was just running around and mucking about when I slipped, felt something go and crashed to the ground in a screaming heap.  And I mean screaming.  In fact if you could see me now, my legs and feet are twitching as I write this because I cringe just thinking about the position my leg was in then, which probably made me scream more.

I carried on screaming until my sister came running out, whereby she took one look at me, cried out something about my knee being half way round my leg and ran back inside the house.

Err; I hope that someone will be coming to my aid soon please, because I can’t get up.

Next came Dad and as he could never stomach seeing other people’s injuries, he took one look at my knee, went white as a sheet and ran back inside to telephone for our GP to come and sort me out.

By this time I had stopped screaming (probably to the relief of the world and his dog) and both Mum and Dad returned to comfort me and put a blanket over me, which I guess was something the doctor had told them to do in case of shock.

Our lovely village GP arrived shortly afterwards and without further ado, he took one look at my leg, called me a silly sausage, grabbed hold of my knee, told Dad to hold onto my leg and yanked the knee back into its rightful position.  No pain killers nothing.

And it hurt.

And it made a lovely sound too as the knee cap crunched and creaked its way back to where it should be.

And the size of it!  It was as big as a hot air balloon and I think I was fascinated by that alot as I had never seen anything like it before.  Thereafter followed, physio and exercise regimes, which were boring, but it got me off PE for a good while!

When I think of something good that I did as a child, I’ll let you know…

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