The Sock Sequestration Stratagem

Confucius he say, "Man who stomps around like five-year old gets only blisters for his troubles..."

As I was getting undressed for bed last night, I realised that the thing I'd thought all day was a stone in my shoe...actually wasn't a stone in my shoe after all.
"Blister!" I called to d in the other room.
"Oh nooo," she said, all sympathy and sweetness.

Tonight, being a Friday, we went to the supermarket and then Ma had suggested we all go out for dinner together. Great. We were in the line at Tescos, when I stared into the middle distance and held up a hand.
"What's the matter, honey?" said d. "You dizzy again?" I shook my head, trying to catch the feel of something. "Can you hear?" she asked, hopefully. Again, I had to shake my head. "What then?"
I drew the shape of a spiral on my chest - an indication of the fizzing Catherine Wheel sensation I get before a tachycardic incident.
"Really?" she asked. Really was tricky. I wasn't sure if it was a tachycardic incident or if it was wind. I took her hand and jabbed it against my chest, searching her eyes for confirmation.
"Really," she said, nodding. "Go and sit down..."

I did. I was all for laying on the floor with my feet in the air - a long-proven remedy for this condition, bizare as it may sound. But d said no - the cardiologist I saw a few months ago said if it happened again, I shouldn't do that, but should get to a hospital while it was still going on, so as to present with actual symptoms. d went to ring Ma, to arrange transport to hospital. While she was gone, the pounding heart subsided and I returned to normal.

Have to say, this has given me a new perspective on something. When conversation has ever turned morbid, and people describe how they want to die, I've always said that I'd like to keel over in the "Five Items Or Fewer" aisle at the supermarket, just to cause maximum irritation with my final moments.

Having a wobbly moment like this, in situ, kind of brings home what an ultimately crappy way that would be to die - and what an equally crappy story for the funeral. Now I think I'd like to die in a freak decompression accident on the first Mars colony. While  eating a choux bun.

Fuck off, it's my death fantasy, I can be eating a choux bun if I want to be...

Anyhow - on reflection, I decided it would be complete folly to go to the ER on a Friday night in my town - the headlines of the lcoal paper are awash with people in the ER waiting nine or ten hours in corridors just to be seen - or indeed dropping dead in the same corridors - I submit out of sheer medical boredom. So we went on our way for our meal, and I was recounting the story of the blister to Ma.
"Ohhh," she said. "Is that from walking?"
"Walking in the wrong socks," I explained. d choked, turned ot me with a murderous glint in her eye and a suddenly sharp-looking fork in her hand.
"You are so lucky we're in public right now!" she said...

To explain - a few days ago, while preparing to go walking with Ma, I had thrown on some ordinary socks. One had a Cyberman on it, because yes, I'm that geeky. The other was thin and had red stripes on it.
"Put some proper walking socks on!" d had said.
"Nah, I'll be fine," I explained. "It's not proper walking walking..."

Y'know what? Turns out all walking is proper walking walking...
"That's it," said d, back in the restaurant. "I'm going to take away all your non-walking socks. There will be nothing but walking socks in this house. Maybe...if you're good...I'll let you have your Cybersocks for your birthday..."
"There's a joke there," I mused, then saw the look in her eye. "Which I wouldn't dream of making right now..."


So if I wake up in the morning to a world of nothing but green stretchy socks, I'll let you know. In fairness, this does rather highlight a constant in my life - when I brush aside the advice of good women...bad things happen. On the night of New Year's Eve, 1977, for instance, Ma had warned me to be carfeul and come home early.
"Pah," I said. "I've survived in London, I've survived in Glasgow, I'm sure I can survive New Year's Eve in Merthyr..."
Later that night I was in the ER, having had seven shades of shit kicked out of me.

My life is littered with similar examples. Does this mean I'm going to simply submit to all the advice that's meant to do me good and keep me safe?

Nahhh....where's the fun in that?

Now, amd gonna lay down and finally put my feet up. night all...