Aside from the colouring, and both being hams, I have something else in common with Nicole Kidman. Let me state at the outset I do not find Nic fascinating in the least. Never have, and chances are I never will. But today I saw on breakfast television that she was sent to the pavement by a clumsy cyclist, a paparazzo cyclist, to be precise. My 12yo rolled his eyes ceiling-ward and cried, 'God, who cares?' I'm in agreement with him; I don't give a hoot that Nic was knocked over - she wasn't hurt although she was reportedly furious. (If she was hurt, I would care). The fury is understandable, and do you know why I feel entitled to be empathetic? Let me explain. Many years ago, approximately thirty, when I was a high-schooler, my mother parked our old green Ford Falcon on a 45 degree angle as per regulations in the main street, and sent me across the road to get something from the chemist. I forget what it was - I know it wasn't condoms because our chemist didn't stock them. This was a lazy Sunday or Saturday morning, and there weren't many in the street at all. I collected whatever it was Mum wanted me to collect, and was making my lackadaisical, not-a-care-in-the-world way back to the car, when I saw in peripheral vision a kid from my school riding a pushbike in my direction. This kid was about two years my junior, and in the interests of privacy I will not use his name. Let's just call him Dumbarse, which is fitting. Being summer, and the early 1980s, Dumbarse was pedalling along sans shirt and sans helmet. There was a parcel in his bicycle basket, all wrapped in white butcher's paper (this memory leads me to think it must have been a Saturday, because back then few shops were open on a Sunday, and most definitely NOT the butcher shop). I took a few steps toward the family car; Dumbarse swerved his bicycle in that direction, thinking he was funny (this just in, Dumbarse: you weren't). I stepped backwards; Dumbarse tacked his bicycle in that direction (I don't know if 'tack' is an appropriate term to use outside yachting, but bear with me). I knew he was stirring and stuff, and was not in the mood for him, but just rolled my eyes and moved toward Mum's car again. Dumbarse swerved his bicycle that way, and by this time he was close. Very close. I moved again; and if you guessed Dumbarse moved the same way, you'd be correct. However, with this manoeuvre, Dumbarse hit a pothole (curse the slack road crew of my local shire council!). He lost control of the bike and hit me. I fell, but I fell gracefully. Dumbarse went over the handlebars like an ungraceful sack of potatoes fired from a cannon, and hit the bitumen, the force of the blow sending him onto his back where he did a slide for a metre or so. You will recall I mentioned he was shirtless. His butcher's paper-wrapped parcel went flying, also.
I picked myself up in a fog of fury, and dusted myself off. My mother got out of our car and fairly flew to the prone Dumbarse, who was lying in a daze and in pain - no doubt because of the yard of skin from his back that rippled in the sunlight on the road - like a mirage of heat waves. My mother was concerned for the welfare of this little turd, and cried, 'Are you all right?'
Dumbarse, still in a daze, croaked, 'Oooooh, shit.'
I managed to keep an almost insurmountable urge to kick the little turd into the gutter under control, and my mother helped him up and instructed me to fetch his parcel from the road. I obeyed, but not before giving the little jerk the fish-eyes and crying, 'Why don't you watch what you're doing?' Admittedly my hip and buttock hurt from being struck by the bicycle, but he was in an entirely different world of pain to me, and I must admit I was rather glad.
So you see, I feel qualified to state I understand Nicole's ire with this idiotic paparazzo.
Song lyric I am loving today: I have been listening to some Friday 13th stuff, and one of my FB friends posted 'The Monster Mash'. This has some seriously clever and well-delivered lyrics, one of which is '..to catch a jolt from my electrodes.' Love it. I might play it to my 9yo son later. Those of you who have defected over from my other blog site will know that my youngest is epileptic. He has a check=up today with the paediatric neurologist, who initially gave him an EEG, which entails wires being attached to the head, and attached with an uncomfortable thing that looks a little like a fishnet helmet. He has had this procedure done twice, and enjoyed it neither time - there were tears the second time. This song might give him a laugh.
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