Just to prove that I’m ok with other people having a larf at my expense, two things:
Yesterday I got an email about plans for our 10-year high school reunion.
For background, this wouldn’t necessarily be an enjoyable experience.
So last night, I dreamt I turned up to the reunion in my pyjamas but without any pants on.
Way to have stereotypical anxiety dreams!
If you like poorly described slap-stick then this is the anecdote for you!
Late last week I bought a new piece of luggage for my motorbike to make overnight trips a possibility.
Here’s a picture.
It has a set of magnets in the base, allowing it to fix onto the petrol tank without the need for complicated tying down and pesky bungee chords, etc etc.
Following an early departure from Sydney for Canberra on Sunday morning, the cold cold winds resulted a rather dramatic case of me shivering to bits on the bike and pulling into a roadhouse for some coffee and some hot food.
Now, I had to take the magnetic tank bag with me to avert the possibility of theivage.
After having to wait 10 minutes for my coffee and food I was a fair way towards the end of my tether when I lumbered off towards a table, with my helmet hooked over my arm, carrying the tank bag and a tray with the coffee and food.
The thing about the magnets in the bag though is that they don’t tend to discriminate between things I want them to stick to, and things I really would prefer they didn’t stick to.
So if you can picture it, on my way past a table the magnets attached themselves to a nearby chair and, with my hand still holding onto the bag, it pulled me backwards, resulting in coffee and pancakes flying up into the air in a very comical fashion, and landing, with a loud splat, at my feet.
I almost cried, but instead I introduced the kids at the nearby table to some choice profanities they might otherwise have not known (which may or may not have rhymed with James Blunt).
Woe is me!