Wednesday, 13 August 2014

No good deed goes unpunished

I've said it before, and I'll say it again.

As followers on Facebook may recall, a few weeks ago whilst partaking of my usual custom of a walk to Dominos in Kenilworth for Two for Tuesday when working down at the office (both pizzas are not for me, I hasten to add), I was asked by some boys to help them use a broom to get their football out of a tree - this I did, only to damage my left knee in the process.

Well, yesterday, the curse of 'no-good-deed-goes-unpunished' struck again, this time in the form of a piece of broken mirror piercing the soft, tender flesh of my right foot!

It was far more dramatic when there was blood pouring out of it!

Picture the scene - a small back-street, cars parked on one side and on the other, the backs of houses and shops that front onto the main road through the not-so-fair town of Darwen. Against the wall at the back of these houses/shops, adjacent to the road, some fucking moron whose eyes I have since cursed had decided it was a good idea to lean two large glass mirrors on the night when the remnants of Hurricane Bertha happened to be passing by - needless to say, a lusty gust of wind or two later, and one of said glass mirrors had keeled over and smashed on the road, presenting a significant risk to the tyres of vehicles making their way towards Dove Lane.
Along comes my good self, fresh from visiting my parents and, seeing this hazard, I decide it would be my good deed of the day to get the glass out of the road - so I start to push the shards towards the wall with my shoe….then Aaaaaarrrrrgggghhhhh!!!
A particularly long (two and half inches, at least), nastily pointed piece of glass decides it doesn't like being pushed around and instead slices through the side of the trainers and embeds itself right into my foot.
Yes, it fucking hurt.
No, I didn't cry (though I did wince a little!)
When I got home, it was a case of cotton wool, TCP, plasters and putting a blood-soaked sock to soak. And not to mention the fact that my rather expensive pair of Merrills now has a gash in it that I'm pretty sure means they're not as waterproof as they were last weekend!

Well, it still hurts like hell and it means I'm walking like an eighty year old man with a bad case of hemorrhoids. It's also exposed me to the usual unsympathetic ridicule of close family members.

So, the moral of both this and of my efforts to help get footballs out of trees?
Well, I guess the title of the blog answers that question…and from now on, I'm certainly going to think twice before I do any more good bloody deeds!