A Fall from Grace

Well not grace so much, more of a fall from 5 foot five height of my getting-more-generous frame above pavement level. Let’s make it 5 foot 6 with shoes. Icy and cold, sunny but crisp, thinking of the day ahead on a Monday morning walking into work, avoiding the ice, when woosh…one swift motion and one fell swoop, a sudden movement and…ok that’s weird. How come the ground is now rushing towards my face so quickly? And why is everything all lopsided? And what…oh right, I’ve slipped and am falling and its going quickly and don’t quite know how to stop this and. Pain. As my hands hit the concrete and take the full force of my body weight. As do my knees. And the shame of falling over in the street. And you get up, wincing, and try to pull yourself together, and check you’re ok. Hands, no cuts. Left leg, ok. Right leg, ok but no wait, a massive rip in my trousers, a huge gash in my skin and immense pain. I couldn’t care less about my knees but ripped trousers. On a school day, on a Monday morning. And my new favourite trousers. And boots scuffed. And I had plans that night. And I had hairy legs. The tears nearly came but I fought them back.

Thank God none of the kids saw.

So off I go, to the medical room, and get my knee seen to. And then off I go to the textiles room, and get my trousers seen to. Thank god for that. And then I get myself chocolate.

And now it’s all bloody and painful and gross, and really quite deep. And I can’t put any weight on it so I have to pray sitting on a chair which makes me feel like a little old lady. Moan, whinge and groan.

I seem to fall over and hurt myself more now then I did when I was a kid.