Man in his Pyjamas A collection of comedy writing, poetry and spoken word.

Hot innit

The sun is as high as an elephant’s eye. The sky is so, so blue. So why am I sat inside thinking of starting a blog?
Is it because I am avoiding moving the lawn?  (partly)
Is it because I am by nature a pasty white/blue skinned man who dare not even say melanoma for fear collapsing into a cancerous pile?  (somewhat)
Is it because I wish to wear cut offs and flip-flops?* (teensy bit)


*I can’t/won’t/shouldn’t/dare not/am restrained from/ wearing cut offs and flip-flops, because the lower portion of my legs resemble a set of Para-Olympic running-pole-legs that have been hastily retired because, although being aerodynamically sound, look so ***** ridiculous that the other runners failed to leave the starting blocks due to unfettered hysterics. And because all of my 20 toes appear as if they have been chewed up by the devil himself and spat out in such a way as to resemble hell.*

No to all of the above.

I am resting because shortly I am going to give blood for the third (and possibly last) time. The last time I went to give blood I was sent home because I was ‘infected’  (had got a cold within a no cold time frame) – irritating, but not too embarrassing. Necessary perhaps, but irritating when I have rushed home from work  ( I don’t like to rush). The first time I went however was terribly embarrassing.

I fainted. 

Dramatically.

I came-to laying on the floor with my heavily pregnant wife and several very old people stood over me looking at my bloodless form with genuine concern and pity. After having my knees pushed into my chest by a rotund nurse, for what seemed like a  fortnight. And after being force-fed cheap biscuits and even cheaper sweet tea. And whilst being observed by a nurse, my wife and EVERY OTHER PERSON IN THERE, I was allowed to stagger pathetically home, using my pregnant wife as a novelty crutch.

The shame.

It is for this reason that I am resting indoors.   I am genuinely scared of giving blood and of looking like a plonker again. But, I am determined to give blood because it is the right thing to do and an absolute necessity.  Many fine, fine people I have known (and know) have been through difficult times and have needed blood to assist their journey and to ease their pain. The pot is empty and I want to help fill it up. As my hair greys and my knees ache, I become aware of the needs of others more; I meditate aiming to attain a loving-kindness for all and sundry. (This is quite a challenge as my natural state is anti-social/grumpy/asleep/leave me alone).

So, I shall accept the needle and clench my buttocks in a bid to be a slightly, ever-so-slightly better person.  

If they send me home though, or if I collapse like a fool at the feet of  a geriatric, I am retiring my arm early regardless and shall volunteer hence forth in a soup kitchen. 

Wish me luck chuck

4 Thoughts on “Hot innit

  1. Gemma Gemma on July 24, 2012 at 19:58 said:

    Where were you planning on moving the lawn to Sam? No wonder you are avoiding it. :-)

  2. Anonymous Anonymous on August 9, 2012 at 19:46 said:

    Its true about the spindly legs, he doesn't get them from his Dad, or his word 'smiffery' either.

  3. That's because your legs are the length of a toddler's. If they were adult length, they would be spindly!

  4. Huh? *confused face*

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