Learning to Fly

The single best thing about today is that I didn't shit myself.

Ordinarily I consider the sort of day where I fail to disgrace myself as the status quo. But it's Wednesday, and I've never quite got the hang of Wednesdays.

Regular readers (hello, mum!) may feel that I have a bit of a poo fixation, but the truth of the matter is that yeah, alright, I have. However the events of the last 24 hours have done nothing to convince me I'm wrong.

To prevent this from becoming too graphic, I'm going to use a metaphor at this point. Ordinarily I'm as regular as a railway time table. Most days three trains leave the station. However, for the past two days there's been a signal failure and to put it mildly the passengers are revolting.

So last night I took something that would fix the signal problem. Unfortunately, in an uncharacteristic move, I slightly overdid it. As such I awoke this morning to find the station rumbling away, threatening the possibility of an express train. However, by the time I was ready to go to work the line was still blocked.

This was the background to my morning commute to work by bike. I cycled along merrily enough, confident that short of a disaster I would make it to work without expelling something awful.

Disaster inevitably struck as I was cycling by the river and spied a chap riding slowly in front of me.

"Out of my way, fatty!"

I thought, swerving  brilliantly onto the grass to go round him, expertly standing up and deftly pedalling straight into a massive hole. The bike took this badly, went base over apex and ejected me a full eight feet across the field.

I was in the air long enough to think

"This'll hurt."

Followed by

"I'm going to poop when I hit the g-"

At which point, I hit the ground. But did not poop.

"Fatty" meanwhile was kind enough to help me to my feet, pick up the broken remnants of my bike and ask if I was okay. To which I replied

"I think so. At least I didn't shit myself!"

Heroic.