A rewrite of a piece I did sometime ago…..prompted by the Readwave website asking can you write a piece entitled ‘a comedy of errors’
A Comedy of Errors.
I reach down from the bed to pick up my notepad. Instead I knock over the fresh cup of coffee my wife has just kindly placed there for me. All over the notepad.
I can’t write in it now. I can however jot down my ideas in one of the many other notepads I have scattered around the place. I swing my feet over the side of the bed and raise myself vertically but only temporarily so. The now cooling coffee has colluded with the floorboards to create a passable version of a skating rink and my temporary ‘up’ is now ‘down’. Fortunately the cup breaks my fall along with a small piece of my head. My yelp has alerted my wife who is very calmly reading whilst sipping her still warm tea.
“Are you alright dear” she asks without as much as skipping a word. I think about answering her in French just to see if she is really listening but I chicken out and mumble “I’m fine” which I am not sure I am.
My boxers are soaking wet and my head appears to be bleeding. I get up gingerly, look across to my partner for sympathy, get none and so stumble in the direction of the bathroom. Looking for sympathy was a bad move. It took away my focus momentarily and I walk into the edge of the open bedroom door, stubbing my toe in the process. My instinct is to grab for the injured digit and doing so unbalances me a tad and I hop backwards in an attempt to maintain my balance.
I then perform what is commonly known in skating parlance as an Axel jump (Tea and floorboard collusion number 2!) with the added difficulty of a twist. I land it badly and the natural rotation generated by the spin continues to move my body very much in a downward trajectory against my will. This time I am lucky there is no tea cup to catch my head upon. The chest of drawers sees to that.
“Fucking Readwave” I mutter.
“Yes dear” says my partner who is utterly enraptured by the latest offering from Paulo Coelho. He would most likely to be able to divulge to me some profound insight into my situation at this point but I have suffered enough injury already and decide not to pose this question to my entranced other half.
As I can now only see one of everything I am sure it is safe to move. I opt, wisely I think to myself, for crawling. Unfortunately the nail I have been promising to hammer down into the floorboard for the last 15 years persuades me that this was not the case at all. This time my howls cause a cessation in the reading habits of my mate.
“What on earth are you doing down there ?” she asks.
“Looking for a notepad”
“Is your head bleeding?”
“Yes. Twice. And my knee too”
Paulo Coelho is forgotten momentarily. I am once again the man in her life. She comes to my aid and helps me back into the bed after a little dabbing here and there with a damp tissue.
“Can I get you anything love?” She really is a darling.
“Actually, Yes you can” I answer
“A notepad. I think I have just the story”