A Meandering Malarkey of Malevolence

Post CCXIX

Here’s the story of Germany, tripping, and sausage rolls.

Good news! I’ve almost reached a malarkey of migraines for 2015! Do I get a trophy or some kind of award? What about a man curled up in a ball on the floor holding his head in agony? And it has a button that, when you press it, it lets out a high-pitched wail like a whale being tickled with a feather. A ‘malarkey’ is what I call 12 migraines in one year. I got my 11th of 2015 this week (I have to keep a record). I’m heading for a male world record at this rate. I was promptly reacquainted with my old friend, co-codamol. The first one I took out of the packet was broke, so in my frustrated and angry state, I threw it. It flew right out of the open window and landed on the window ledge. It was gone the next day, so I presume a bird ate it. So if the RSPCA find a stoned bird, I’m sorry, it was a total accident…

I’m now considering the conspiracy theories about drugs in our water supply must be true. I’ve been getting them for over ten years. If my migraines were being caused by a tumour, it would’ve killed me by now. And yes, I wear glasses, but I clean them regularly. And I’ve cut down on my time on digital devices. But I do drink lots and lots of water. Hmm. It was like an acid trip, readers. I’d presume. I don’t do drugs. I’m a good boy. Well, sometimes. Well, I have my moments. Well, probably.

Imagine a black canvas. And suddenly, it’s enraptured by all kinds of geometric shapes, all brightly coloured. I remember an endless stream of orange triangles moving in a repeating arc over a thin green line peppered with red and blue triangles moving counter to the orange triangles. And they got faster and faster, and moved in and out of focus. And among all this, bright flashes of yellow light, some intense, some blurred. And that black background gave way to warped, black and white, grainy images of my family. All coupled with a feeling like my head was being crushed in a vice and a feeling similar to a pneumatic drill pounding on my skull. It went on for about 40 minutes. When you get a migraine, ones vision often goes a bit doolally, but this was insane. I felt like I was losing my mind.

I was certainly not asleep, because I remember screaming and crying a lot. It sounds bad, readers, but honestly, I’m used to it. I’ve had 11 of these this year. Everyone in my family gets bad migraines. And we all wear glasses. And we all have hay fever. Heck, my dad even has winter hayfever. Yes, I’d never heard of it, either.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Then there’s appendicitis, tonsillitis, shingles, chicken pox, low blood sugar, arthritis, baldness – basically, I’m doomed to a life of utter hell. Everyone in my family has a few of those, as have I. I haven’t had chicken pox yet, though. At 25, I must say, I’m looking forward to the day chicken pox arrives at my doorstep. Doesn’t it have a 60 something percent death rate in adults in the UK? Oh, great. Died of chicken pox. It’s a very Victorian way to die, isn’t it? Like dying of consumption. I wanted to die choking on a sausage roll. You know, die doing something I love. Eating sausage rolls. Ah, what a lovely way to go…

When it comes to the humble migraine, what one is supposed to do is put a cold wet flannel on one’s brow and go to sleep. Preferably drugged up to one’s eyeballs in anti-migraine medication, such as my beloved co-codamol. Beloved because, as my long time readers will know, it often makes me a bit ‘freaky’. In a very ‘60s way.

I tried to get some sleep, but I couldn’t. Dad had SEVEN deliveries. My folks are going away soon. Yes, they’re going away. They’re leaving me alone for TWO weeks! Nothing has gone right for me since I broke that mirror. I bet they’ll come back after their trip to Ibiza and there’ll be a family of goats living in the house…

Mother told me dad wants to try a foam party. They’re in their mid-sixties. I’m 25 and I had to Google ‘foam party’ because I’d never heard of one. Who came up with that stupid idea? Who was having a nice hot bubble bath and thought the bubbles would enhance partying? I so loathe nightclubs.

They’re also going to the world famous hippy market. I’ve been there when I went to Ibiza. It’s lovely. Oh, yes, I’ve been to Ibiza. Mr. Mild-Mannered over here. I bet you thought I was the type of person who visits castles and war museums. But you’d be quite wrong.

That said, I have an opportunity to visit Berlin next year. Hmm, I’m not sure if I’ll go yet, to be honest. I don’t really like Germany. Oh, you know how it is. Like most people in England, I’m still a bit grumpy about the war…

So our very loud doorbell has been ringing a lot this week. Deliverymen don’t tend to hang around for too long. We have to leave a note on the door. Every time the doorbell rings, you hear the thundering footsteps of dad running toward the door. It’s not an understatement to say that all deliverymen are bastards. Ring the doorbell and wait for at least five minutes, not five seconds.

They don’t even leave the package with the neighbours anymore. I once asked a deliveryman why.

“Ah, company policy. We’re not allowed anymore.”

Who came up with that policy? They need shooting! They then take the package back to the depot and you have, and I’m not kidding, 24 hours to get it. And pay a charge. If you don’t get it in that time and if you’re lucky, they’ll send it back to where it came from. If it’s the Royal Mail we’re talking about, they’ll destroy it. What if you’re on holiday? It’s pathetic!

We were on holiday once. And when we came back, there was a note from a deliveryman. He’d left a package behind our bins in the alleyway. Perfectly safe and out of sight. It’s a safe area around here. I miss those days.

Thankfully, all of dad’s packages came, which meant I finally had some peace and quiet to recover from my God-awful migraine of doom.

I was enjoying the peace the quiet.

“ARRRRRRGH!”

I nearly had a heart attack. I jumped out of my bed and ran to the source of the scream. It was dad, curled up in a ball on the bathroom floor, with mother in the corner of the bathroom in fits of giggles with tears of laughter streaming down her face.

Dad was fixing something on the floor and mother had gotten something out of the cabinet above, leaving the cabinet door open. You can imagine what dad’s bald head came in to contact with as he stood up. He has a three inch gash on his head!

I guess tragedy runs in this family…

Brenda Piddy once said: “A migraine is a like having a hangover even before the party starts.”

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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