The Rainy Friday Blues


Here’s the story of gardening, mishap, and positives.

I realised I wasn’t cut out for gardening not long after I cut through the hedge trimmer wire. I was having so much fun, too. It’s like a giant chainsaw. You should’ve seen me, readers. I was whooshing to the left. Whooshing to the right. Like a madman, I was. In fact, my only concern, and it was only a small one, was that I was so wild and unruly with the machine, that I might lop my own arm off. Despite the fact I was holding it with both my hands. But in the midst of all my fun, it suddenly stopped. ‘Oh, dingleberries,’ I thought. I couldn’t figure out why. Then I remembered something dad had told me. He told me that when he and my brother used to do the gardening, my brother did the hedge trimming and regularly cut through the wire. In retrospect, it was probably an omen…

Do you know what the worst part is? I bought dad that hedge trimmer for his birthday. In fact, it was the first time it was being used. I felt awful. You should’ve seen the look on his face. He was crestfallen. He loves his garden. Nobody dare mess with his precious garden. I was nearly finished, as well. I tell you this much, I haven’t seen a shovel thrown in anger for a long while. Luckily, it wasn’t thrown at me, so that’s a positive.

Dad went to find something to repair the damage in the garage. Mother had heard the commotion and she came out to see what all the fuss was. I was very honest. I told her dad had cut through the wire. What? Hey, it takes two to lie. One to lie, one to listen…

At least I learnt how to connect two pieces of wire together. You need a screwdriver, a chocolate box and a wire stripping thingamajig. Okay, I don’t know the ‘terminology’, but I know the mechanics. And no, I have no idea why the British call screw terminals ‘chocolate boxes’ and yes, it does perpetuate the old timey quaint British life Americans think we still live in. I like it, though. And I learnt something new. You see? There’s always a positive in every situation. But don’t tell dad that.

I did enjoy the gardening, but my body sure didn’t. It really doesn’t like anything… physical, let’s say. Honestly, I woke up the next day in more pain than I thought was humanly possible. My arms, my legs, my back, my shoulders – I’ve never been in this much pain. Even my hands hurt when I move them. And my ribs are in agony. Although that’s my fault. I was about to use some manual clippers, but I was set up improperly and I ended up sandwiching my ribs between the handles. That hurt. Just a bit.

Very few places on my body aren’t in pain. I am in desperate need of recuperation. I can barely move, and I really wish I was being melodramatic, but I’m not. A woman would take a nice long bath, probably with some salts. But I can’t. I don’t know why, but when I have a hot bath, it triggers a sugar crash. I have very low blood sugar. I really don’t know why a bath does that to me but it sounds so stupid not only daren’t I consult a doctor, I daren’t consult Google. Often my ‘second opinion’. I get really light headed, very pale, start shaking and there’s usually some vomit. I always feel really dizzy, too, I often get a migraine and it’s all accompanied by severe hunger. I don’t know why this happens. I’m just weird, I guess.

At least after a day of gardening in the Sun, I got a nice tan. You see? Positives.

Of course, this is Britain, so the next day, summer had given way to winter. The weather had turned abysmal…

It was two days after ‘Garden-Gate’. I woke up on that morning to what can only be described as a homage to ‘The Day After Tomorrow’. I had to go out on that day! And I wanted to take some photos. I was really hoping the weather forecasters would be wrong.

That’s an odd job, isn’t it? Weather forecasting. There isn’t anything else quite like it, is there? Food forecast. “Tonight, Ally, you’re having pasta.” “Ooh!” Medical forecast. “Today, you will feel a slight tingling sensation in your leg.” “That’s not too bad.” “But don’t worry, that pain will soon be gone because you won’t have a leg by tomorrow.” “Wait, what?”

So I ventured out into the thunderstorm. And with my aching body, I didn’t feel much like it. Initially, the rain wasn’t even that bad. But then, suddenly, a deluge that could rival the Great Flood enveloped the land. I have never been that wet in my life. And I nearly drowned once…

The rain was streaming down my face like a waterfall. I had a rather unpleasant mucus moustache. My eyes were stinging, red and raw. My head was thumping. My hair was ruined. My glasses were now a milky white. Well, you’re thinking, ‘only a shower’. Ooh, baby, no. No, no, no. This was relentless. 20 minutes non-stop. I could barely breathe I was inhaling so much water.

‘Well, you should’ve gone inside,’ you’re thinking. Oh, gee, thanks Sherlock. I hadn’t thought of that. I couldn’t get inside! I was photographing the regeneration of a wasteland, formerly industrial. The nearest ‘indoors’ was a bridge about a twenty minute walk away.

I can’t imagine how insane I must’ve looked to the cars passing me by. I imagine I looked like the weather reporters who are sent outside during a storm. You know the type. Desperately clinging on to their umbrella, whilst trying to stay on their feet…

You should’ve seen me waiting for the bus in the bus station.

A bedraggled young man. His jeans a dark blue they are so wet. His jacket droopy and sodden. His long hair, now saturated, is glued to his jacket and face. It will not peel off. His glasses are foggy. His eyes bright red. He’s shaking, too. Sniffles to kingdom come. The most miserable look imaginable on his face. A bedraggled young man standing in a puddle of the water dripping off him.

It was a terrible end to the day. And it didn’t start much better. Hal didn’t wake me up. Hal is what I call my alarm clock. A women’s voice hypnotises you and then brings you out of sleep. It’s an app and it – you know what, it doesn’t matter. It didn’t go off, is the point.

I think it’s safe to say that my week has been rather colourful. But let’s look at the positives, shall we? Sure, I’m in the most pain any human has ever been in. Sure, I feel like total crap after I was caught in what was, essentially, a monsoon. Sure, my camera is soaked. And of course, my precious, precious very long hair is a total mess. All frizzy, twirly, and curly. But… no, you know what, screw the positives.

I need a lie down…

Russian-American novelist, Vladimir Nabokov (1899-1977), once said: “Do not be angry with the rain; it simply does not know how to fall upwards.”

Peace Out :|:

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. You can leave a comment and/or like this post below, or by clicking the title on the top of this post if you are on the ‘Archives’ page. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks.

Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post

Hark Around the Words
New Posts Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post


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