A Hippy-Do-Dah Day Merry Say


Here’s the story of headaches, fire, and co-codamol.

When I smell smoke, my initial thought is that I have set something on fire. Again. I’ve caused so many over the years, that another is as likely as the Sun rising. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that it was actually some kids starting the fires. I was filled with relief, then with panic because, you know, fire. “Really? A fire and I didn’t cause it? Oh, wow! I’m quite pleased. What a wonderful – oh, shit! There’s a fire!” Kids these days. They have nothing to do. They didn’t start fires in the olden days. They rolled hoops down cobbled streets with sticks. ‘Kick the can’ was all the rage. And they painted fences whilst they waited for the dial-up modem to warm up…

Not nowadays, though. Oh, no. They start fires nowadays. We have a row of trees out the back of our house and some youths had got into a small clearing and started a fire. I mean, we have neighbours with young children. Our next door neighbour has a six year old daughter. And sure, she is, quite literally, the most annoying person I’ve ever met, but I don’t want any harm to come to her.

My mother is not someone you want to piss off. She was once out driving and another car sideswiped her car. What did mother expect? Him to pull over and exchange insurance details. What did he do? Drove off. What did my mum do? She chased him. She hit 60 miles per hour at one point, through a 30! Probably through red lights and over roundabouts. It was brilliantly dangerous! I love that woman. More than anything else. “I’M GONNA KILL THAT BASTARD IF I CATCH HIM!” She was in a Volkswagen. He was in a Porsche

The police did pull my mother over because the other guy was, unsurprisingly, considerably quicker and managed to get away. But to the police’s credit, they were brilliant. My mother explained what had happened and she gave them the other driver’s number plate. A number she got five minutes into the 30 minute car chase. She was serious about catching him, readers. The police gave my mother a stern talking to, but they let her go. No fines or tickets or anything. The police went off in search of the other guy and they caught him! Ah. Justice.

I must say, it was a fun Wednesday morning high speed car chase through rural Yorkshire…

So you can imagine how unhappy mother was with the fire. So she and I went around to have a look. My mother is 64. The three kids we met, who lit the fire, were around 15. And they were certainly armed.

“What do you think you’re doing?” asked mother.

“Erm, it’s just a fire. We’ve put rocks around it. It’s fine.”

You wonder about the state of British education when kids don’t have a fundamental understanding of fire. Those kids were surrounded on all sides by trees. One ember and there would’ve been a really bad incident. My mother spent 10 minutes telling them off. But she was calm. Assured. She didn’t yell. She was brilliant. And you know what the best part was?

“I know you’re bored, but you can’t do this. Have you thought about joining the Scouts?”

The Scouts! Three teenage hoodlums! THE BLOODY SCOUTS! Ha! Oh, my word. Imagine that! I’d pay good money to see that…

“Now Mackenzie, how do you solve a mathematical problem?”

“Stab it?”

Honestly, confronting those three youths with mother is the manliest thing I’ve done since I was injured in that bullfighting arena in Spain when I was six. Admittedly, that’s where I usually end that story. Because was really happened is that I tripped over something and rolled down a flight of steps.

Oh, that really hurt. You should see the photos. On all of them, my left leg is covered in blood. I haven’t worn shorts since…

I tell you something that else that hurts, readers. Migraines. I had another this week and my brain feels like a mass of wires all tangled up. Migraines mess with your head. You can’t think straight. You feel groggy and tired all the time. Admittedly, that could be because I took far too many co-codamol, but realistically, I have far too many things to do. I don’t have time for a headache.

I’d quite like to know what they put in co-codamol, because after I took it, I spent a long time staring at my hands and panicking that NASA is lying to us about this huge comet that’s heading for us. Oh sure, they said it’s not gonna hit us, but I’m not so sure. They wouldn’t tell us if it was gonna hit us, would they? Why cause mass panic if we’re all doomed anyway? We have no way to stop it. At least our deaths will be quick. We’ll only have enough time to say a few final words as a vast cloud of hell begins to vaporise the Earth.

“Oh, crumbs.”

They’re my final words, right there.

Mind you, it’s a bit suspicious that no rock has hit us since the dinosaurs got fried. Unless one did hit us, but in the months leading up to it, the world’s greatest scientists created a machine world on some microchip, put us all inside, and sent it to Mars. You know, to protect us. Maybe Thatcher closing all the mines was a cover up to distract us whilst they worked on it.

I think I need to lay-off the co-codamol…

It didn’t really have any effect, apart from making me a bit hippy-do-dah. It was my tenth migraine of the year. That’s a lot for a guy. I have to keep a record I get so many. This latest one was particularly bad. Three days of tears. Oh, such fun. It’s because I’m on my computer and tablet far too much, but what else can I do? I have no friends to go anywhere with. Or anyone to talk to. Except Jesus over there.

I suppose I could read some books. The problem I have, readers, is that I can’t really remember much of what I did before the internet. I do remember spending many hours playing ‘let’s see how long I can stare at the wall for.’

I could go to the doctors but knowing my luck, he’ll tell me I’m dying of some horrific brain tumour, and I really don’t want to know about that sort of thing. I’ve been getting migraines for over 10 years, so I’m fairly sure whatever is going on up there is my own fault.

I also have several painful and large mouth ulcers. They just popped up one night, all at the same time. Like some terrible magic trick…

At least the annoyingly loud neighbours next door have gone away for a week. So I can relax in peace and quiet, for some nice rest and recuperation.

Sorry, what’s that? Oh. They have a teenage cousin who’ll be looking after the house for them for the entire week? A young teenage girl? Oh, Jesus wept…

Oh, well, that’s the end of me.

If you never hear from me again, readers, my brain has probably exploded…

American writer, Kami Garcia (b. 1972), once wrote: ‘Teenagers. Everything is so apocalyptic.’

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 Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post

Hark Around the Words
New Posts Every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post


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