So there I am, just sitting in front of my computer minding my
own business, when there’s this heart stomping BANG and suddenly I’m lurching
to one side and then I’m falling….and then a moment later I’m lying on the
floor thinking “okay, what happened there?”
Next thing I know I’m travelling back in time…. I’m 36 years
old again….then 35… 34….(getting faster now)…30…25….21 (woohoo!) 18…16…14 years
old and I stop there.
14 years old with the acne and the stink feet, the itchy
uniform and the BAD ATTITUDE….yes it’s back to school.
Monday morning assembly and the whole school are gathered,
seated in rows before the stage. The Headmaster is droning on in that
peculiarly nasal whine of his which seemed designed to test the powers of even
the most alert pupils to stay awake (I could use him now, what with the
insomnia). I’m sitting somewhere near
the back next to my best mate Johno. It’s hot and I’m bored and I’m probably
thinking about GIRLS.
Suddenly there’s this angry voice, booming out across the
hall “You Boy! Stop that swinging!” I smile, thinking someone’s going to get it
(kids are cruel aren’t they?) I take a look
around to see who’s in trouble because he’s been swinging on the back two legs
of his chair, a terrible crime in assembly “A chair has four legs boy. Use them!”
and I wonder for a moment why it is everyone is looking at me.
And then it dawns on me, it’s me he’s shouting at, and I
blink and I blush and I bring my chair back down to the ground with a sickening
jolt.
“Come here boy” says the headmaster, no longer shouting, his
voice cold and hard and dangerously quite.
So it’s the LONG WALK for me, the longest of my life, past
the sniggering rows of children, everyone craning their necks for a better view.
Now, the Headmaster Mr Fenstone (Headstone we called him)
was an elderly man, tall and thin with breath that would impress a skunk, yet
despite his frail appearance he was surprising strong and famed for the vice
like, eye-wateringly powerful shoulder grip he would inflict whilst lecturing
you for some minor misdemeanour. Star-trek
fans should think Vulcan death grip and they wouldn’t be far wrong.
Mr Headstone also had another nickname, and that was
“Chopper” on account of his free and easy approach to the use of the cane.
So there I am, climbing the stairs onto the stage where
Chopper Headstone was waiting, his eyes boring into me like twin battle star lasers.
My legs are wobbly and I’m thinking “why me?”
I close my eyes a moment, wishing I could be anywhere else but here….
And when I open my eyes again I’m lying on the floor next to
my desk and I’m 37 again, no longer at the mercy of this petty sadist with
murder in his eyes.
But what just happened?
Think back….what was the last thing I was doing? Oh yeah I was on the internet, one hand on my
mouse, the other hovering over the keyboard, and I was feeling super-cool, a
net-master, an internet guru, an online, inline skate-dude of the information
highway…just kicking back and riding that wave, the chair beneath me balanced
on two legs like a black leather surfboard and then whoosh, it’s a WIPE OUT. My chair just broke. Again.
Damn it, why is this always happening to me? It’s not the first time you see, I’ve tried
counting them all and there are (excluding one I broke deliberately, oops…. I
was young and stupid) at least four before this one. I suppose you could say
chairs don’t like me. My girlfriend says
it’s my fault and tells me it’s the way I sit, and admittedly I do like a good
lounge, but then that’s just how I’m comfortable, leaning back. And anyway, why can’t somebody build a chair
that suits me instead of me having to suit the chair? I mean as a race of
people we’ve managed to put men on the moon but we still can’t make a chair
that will survive me.
My current chair, the one I just broke, is supposed to
indestructible (ha!) it being an industrial sized, genuine leather-look office
lounger bought for me last Christmas and chosen carefully, not just for it’s
Superman-like strength (am I Kryptonite or what?) but for it’s sore-back-soothing
comfort. My girlfriend knows me you see.
So anyway, it looks like I’ve got off pretty lightly this
time, physically at least. My nerves are
a bit jarred but I’ll live, and at least this time I haven’t suffered any major
injury. The last time was a very different story and I’m wincing now at the memory
of that chair….that bloody plastic chair on holiday in Egypt.
Picture the scene if you will. I’m just settling down to
enjoy the setting sun on the balcony of our hotel, a glass of cold lager in one
hand, my notebook in the other….oh yes was I going to be the poet, already
planning the phrases I would evoke to describe the glorious scene before
me….when yes, you guessed it, the chair collapsed beneath me, snapping completely
like a twig beneath the wheels of a truck, its cheap plastic form no doubt made
brittle by the relentless sun.
And I’m covered in cold beer and I’m cursing like a Frenchman
with a bee in his hair.
And then came the pain.
And what pain it was: an incredible, unbelievable arse-ache
of a pain shooting up my spine, radiating along my arms and, believe it or not,
finding its way into my hands. Great!
An injured tailbone, my nurse girlfriend tells me, “very
painful”.
“Mmm…” I say “your telling me!”
Apparently humans, like other mammals, have a bony sort of
tail at the bottom of their spines called the coccyx, but in our case the actual
tail is tucked up inside our bodies. My girlfriend informs me of this in her
best nice nursie nurse voice (all
smiles and sympathy) and it’s interesting I’m sure you’ll agree, but no use to
me then, what with a tour of the Temple at Abu Simbel booked for the next day.
Actually, in some ways I was pretty lucky that time, seeing as that chair broke into several sharp edged
chunks, one of which, when I finally managed to drag myself of the unforgiving
floor, I found had torn a whole in my shorts just an inch away from my…..oh it
hurts to just think about it….an inch away from my man’s best friend.
So much for my little trip down memory lane….back in the here and now I find
myself sitting at my desk on a hard kitchen chair (what was that? Was it the
sound of my back complaining?). Beside me, mournfully broken sits my old chair,
my bums-best-friend superhero, already covered in a pile of papers, upon which
my cat has decided to sleep off the excesses of last night’s garden prowl. And that’s the point you see? The point of this blog, because I’m the sort
of bloke who likes to try and look for the good in every situation, and now at
last I’m cleared a bit of space on my desk.
And finally, I like to give credit where credit’s due so,
fair play Mr Chopper Headstone you were right.
Swinging on chairs really is a crime, one for which the punishment is
sure to follow like a hangover comes with a headache.
Tags: Chair Tailbone Back Ache Funny School
