While staying at my friend’s house recently we took his dog for a walk. Our shoes got muddy on the way around, so we left them outside the back door when we returned. Eventually it was time for me to leave so I went to get my shoes, only to find the door separating them from me was now locked. Because it wasn’t my house I didn’t know where the key might be. Two minutes later my friend’s wife walked in to discover me lying flat on the floor as I tried to reach my shoes through her cat flap.
I don’t know what to do with them. I just never remember to take them with me to the cinema, so I always come back with a new pair. It seems a waste to throw them away, so into the drawer they go.
At least I was the big spoon.
You should only do this if you like tiny, broken crisps.
Kos, Greece. Day two of my first holiday with my first girlfriend. Weather sweltered. Pores laughed out sweat. I don’t cope well in the sun, so I left the lady by the pool and went to take a shower.
In the hotel room, the maid was making our bed. I told her I was going for a shower, padded into the bathroom, closed the door and removed my swimshorts, leaving them on a little clothes horse by the bath.
At this juncture it is worth pointing out there was no lock on the bathroom door.
I stepped into the bath and studied the shower dial. It was in the same position I’d left it at that morning, when I’d had a shower at a normal warm temperature. I turned the tap and waited.
Water sprayed out, straight into my face and chest. To my surprise, it was hotter than the sun.
I tried to scuttle backwards away from the jet of burning liquid but my feet wouldn’t gain purchase on the now slippery floor. I lost my footing and toppled over the side of the bath.
With all limbs outstretched searching for something to save me, my fingers found the shower curtain and clung on. They continued to cling on even as the rings at the top popped in a short drum roll and allowed the curtain to join us for the descent. I was going down.
It was at that point that I remembered the little clothes horse – the one that I’d left my swimshorts on before getting into the bath. I remembered it by falling onto it, groin-first.
And that’s when the worried maid chose to stick her head around to door to discover me nude, wet and groaning, rolling about on the bathroom floor and seemingly groping myself with the shower curtain. And yes, it probably did look a lot like this bit in The Simpsons:
Every time I walk near one I really, really worry I’m going trip over and pierce my eye and brain with it.
“Fabio Capello is looking forward to a big weekend for group sex.” — I am the Adam Morrell who accidentally broadcast the above text across the nation while working as a live subtitler on Sky Sports News. Fabio Capello was of course looking forward to a big weekend for Group 6, because he is a professional man, but unfortunately voice recognition software does not favour the Stoke-on-Trent accent.
He didn’t laugh.
I am the Adam Morrell with a mysterious bruise that looks a bit like the Avengers logo.
Chivalry ain’t dead but it might just kill you.