Part of the new policy of covering decay, mine that is, must be recounting of “the shoelace incident”.
A few weeks ago I had just returned from an evening of what passes as jollity in the pub I go to, as a non-smoker in this modern age I miss most real socialising as this happens no the pavement but this is the price you pay for non-smelling clothes though to be honest I’d prefer a return to smelly clothes.
After three of four pints I made my way up the hill back home, careful to avoid the vicious badger colonies roaming the West Hill at that time of night.
Into the flat and off with the shoes, disaster; thin laces, double bow, impatience, bad eyesight, slightly less than lithe body. The tight lace now had a knot in it. First the optimistic tug, expecting a miraculous release, no, worse. In the dim, now mandated, long life light bulbs my sight cannot make out the knot. Solution: the amazingly powerful (rarely used) bicycle head light. But I need two hands to work on the knot, so the torch has to be handled by the mouth. At this stage the whole picture is becoming too un-attractive for younger viewers so I will cut to the chase, there are two solutions for this problem; a wife or scissors, the first seems to have eluded me so it was the scissors.
This is not life in the fast lane.
Steve
