My Colourful Indemnity

Post LVI

I’ll give you guys a bit of sage advice my dentist once gave me: don’t use mouthwash. I often get stained teeth, and my dentist acquired that smoking must be the answer. But I don’t smoke. But I am from Yorkshire, so tea was equally as likely. So he said, “Ah, young fellow, tea is the cauldron of despair”. I must stress, he doesn’t talk like a villain from 18th century London, I’m just doing it for practical effect. I was in despair, but he said that as long as I don’t have sugar in my tea, there’s no problem. But he was still befuddled. He said my brushing was more than adequate, and then he asked the question, “Do you use mouthwash, dude?” (if you didn’t like 18th century London, I’m now trying ‘80s America). “Yes!” I said. He harked fervently. “Listerine! I use Listerine!” I said. “Ah, well”, he retorted. “Listerine has been proven to cause tooth staining”. So there’s my sage advice: don’t use mouthwash. Like, ever, young dude fellows.

As some of you are aware, I’m incredibly accident-prone. I’m the guy who set fire to apparently fireproof oven gloves. I’m the guy who tripped over a Christmas Tree and sprained my wrist. Well, it runs in the family. A scene straight from a Carry On movie descended on the household this week.

Dad started to mop the floor. Knocked the bucket over – water everywhere. This was at the same time that the dishwasher tablets decided to fall out of the cupboard. Startled, dad jumped backwards and banged his head off the cooker hood. Lurching forward, his hands grasped the sink edge, only to find the sink was blocked. Well, he immediately tried to free the blockage. Let’s just say he made it worse. Then he heard a clicking. The hob was broke – it wouldn’t stop trying to light. Whilst trying to fix that, he got a small electric shock. He turned around to walk out of the room, and he walked head first into an open cupboard door. All true. That was a bad night for dad.

I accompanied him to the hospital this week. Nothing, surprisingly, to do with the kitchen fiasco. Just a checkup. But we got there early and what resulted, to fill in the awkward silence, was 20 minutes of the definition of dull. “This is my watch”. Fine. “I’m hanging up some of your mother’s teddy bears”. O-kay. “These shoes –“. Oh, please, someone kill me. I thought that was probably a bad thought to have because I was in a hospital and I’d be revived pretty quickly and would have to endure more shoe talk.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a week in the life of I without my weekly weather forecast. Well, this week, I take a look at the burning issue on the tongues of every Englishman: June – What’s Up With That? It’s been my understanding for 21 years that it was not supposed to be a month of torrential rain, thunderstorms, flooding, strong winds, searing cold and nothing else whatsoever. But lately, I’m starting to think this is what June now is. Weather forecasters need to change the definition of ‘average for June’ as being ‘hot’. ‘Nut clenching’ would better define our last few Junes.

It has resulted in parents and child minders up and down the country in a huge pickle. Not literally. Don’t know how that would work. I mean, how would one get ‘inside’ a pickle, anyway? Unless it’s metaphorical. As in ‘get inside its head’. But that raises further conundrums: firstly, are pickles even conscious enough to attempt to decry a psychological attack, and secondly, where exactly is a pickle’s head? You can leave the philosophy to the intellectuals, personally, for me, pickle sentience is where it’s at.

I was child minding again this week. What does one do with a child on a muggy, rainy day? You can’t take them outside, they’ll get wet. And miserable. More so. But you cannot park them in front of the television because of the sodding thunderstorm scrambling the signal. Scrabble will only get you so far with a two-year-old before they start eating the tiles.

I did consider guitar playing to entertain the child, but it raised some issues as well. Firstly, and most importantly, I doubted that a baby’s interest would be kept long enough to enjoy a tune. Secondly, I can’t actually play the guitar.

Ultimately, I found an indoor play area and all was well as a seemingly unending torrent of water pounded on the land outside. Summed up the week, really. And yet I’ve learnt nothing.

“Whether the weather be fine; whether the weather be not; whether the weather be cold; whether the weather be hot – we’ll weather the weather, whatever the weather, whether we like it or not”.

Peace Out :|:

(I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. To do so, you can leave a comment by pressing the bubble on the top right of this post and scroll to the bottom of the new page you’re taken to. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks).


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