A
Fall From Grace
By
Dominic Horton
As
I sit at my desk writing this week's edition of this column I await
the Tesco delivery driver to arrive with boxes of grocery bounty for
my good self. I have a delivery from Tesco once a month with all of
the unexciting non-perishable items that one needs to sustain oneself
such as toilet roll, toothpaste and dried lentils, which I use a lot
in cooking, not because I am a vegetarian but because they are a damn
sight more cheaper than meat and very healthy. They do make you fart
though.
 |
| Hans Krankl, by request of Toby In-Tents. |
The
delivery fee is now as low as a pound – depending on what time of
day you book – and a few clicks on your mouse is all you need to
choose your shopping and book the delivery; if you ask me it is a
no-brainer and a substantially better way of shopping than having to
suffer the trauma of wrestling with coffin dodgers and assorted
zombies who block up the aisles at the supermarket. Another benefit
of internet grocery shopping is that human contact is kept to a
minimum and is limited to a couple of minutes dealing with the
delivery driver, who without exception is always of a more cheery
disposition that your average cashier at the supermarket, who usually
have a glum countenance and the expression of a bassett hound.
I
used to employ the traditional method for my big monthly shop and
labour around the supermarket, overfilling a trolley with a faulty
wheel and irately swearing under my breathe when they've had a
reorganisation of the goods on the shelves, resulting in me being
unable to find the items that I need. I would then load up whatever
clapped out motor I happened to be driving at the time only to have
to unload the multitude of bags again at the other end. It is rare
that I can get a parking spot anywhere near my Codger Mansions home
in the evening or on weekends so I could have done with a human chain
to transport the shopping bags from vehicle to front door. If you
throw a hangover or booze terrors into the mix it made the big shop a
truly horrific experience. I once saw the Woodcutter in a 'the
morning after' state egress a busy supermarket without attempting to
purchase an item as he simply couldn't face it. He undoubtedly made
the right decision in his predicament.
Despite
knowing about internet grocery shopping I persevered with the onerous
supermarket trips as I was suspicious of the online method. I foresaw
late deliveries, cracked eggs and manky veg. But I could not have
been more wrong as the reality is that Tesco have not once been late
and the produce that they send is fresh and bursting with vitality
and I used to crack more eggs in packed shopping bags than Tesco has
ever done with their deliveries. They did once send me a foul
fruit-based alcoholic drink (I forget what it was called) in place of
a bottle of the delightful limoncello but everyone is allowed at
least one indiscretion. And I ended up mixing the unappetising drink
with tonic water and adding ice and it went down well enough.
 |
| Fudgkins. |
I
was effectively forced to use the Tesco online grocery service after
I broke my ankle and was unable to drive for a while, or walk for
that matter. It was a life saver at the time. I didn't break my ankle
undertaking an heroic act on a sports field but in a more mundane
mishap. On a Saturday evening I was supposed to be venturing into
Birmingham with my brother Albino Duxbury and Tom Holliday to see the
Madness frontman Suggs in a solo show. But heavy snow started to fall
late afternoon and by early evening all local buses and trains were
cancelled and it was virtually impossible to get a taxi, so we had to
abandon all thoughts of going to the show.
I
had agreed to meet Tom in the Flagon & Gorses, so there I
remained to drown my sorrows being in a Suggs-less state. After
taking my leave from the Flagon I popped in to the Rhareli Peking
Chinese takeway to see my nemesis, the Baby Faced Assassin, and
to buy a little supper,
before descending the precipitous Furnace Hill, which had
taken on the look of the North face of the Eiger. I confidently laid
my foot down on what I thought was soft snow only to find that
hazardous ice was underneath; I lost my footing and fell heavily on
my ankle dropping the Chinese takeaway in the process. As the
szechuan beef and fried rice went skidding off down the hill in its
white plastic bag my life flashed before me as I awaited to see what
the fate of my supper would be. The takeway sped down the snowy hill
like the luge but luckily came to rest safety, upright, a yard short
of a lamp post. Although my Hans Krankl was mangled at least my hot
supper was still intact.
The
following day, a Sunday, my ankle was sore but I was not of the
impression that I had broken it as I just thought I had sustained a
nasty sprain. I even managed to make the Sunday night festivities in
the Flagon with the help of a lift from the inimitable Colly Coren.
But by Monday the pain has escalated and it was off to A&E
for the inevitable day long saga of waiting around to see
doctors/ have X-rays etc. It was confirmed that I had indeed broken
my ankle and it was a nasty one to boot. A couple of weeks later,
once the injury had settled down, they operated and added a plate and
some pins to stabilise the ankle – disappointingly the metal in my
leg does not set off metal detectors at airports, which is a shame as
it could of acted as a cue for me to relate this sorry, unedifying
story.
 |
| A Bassett Hound. |
On
the plus side of things I was unable to go to work and although
having a busted Hans Krankl was less than ideal I could at least make
the most of being away from my displeasing and demoralising job. I
soon settled down to new routines within Codger Mansions and I worked
out how to do everything that I needed to do, despite being on
crutches. I refused all kind offers of assistance as I was determined
to be completely self reliant. It is often the case that elderly,
infirm people do not uptake offers of help to the frustration of
their younger, fitter relatives and friends: “I can't believe that
old Great Uncle Arthur climbed up that 30 foot ladder on his one leg
in the dark, with a gale blowing and without his guide dog. No wonder
he has ended up in hospital. Why didn't he just ask me to do it?!”
But I understand the Great Uncle Arthurs of this world now as I
learnt that to be able to live independently is a valuable thing.
Being reliant on others can effect a person's self esteem.
I
managed to transport meals from the kitchen to the dining room or
living room by putting them into a tupperwear pot and placing that in
a bag on my shoulder. My toilet is on the ground floor and as
navigating the stairs was difficult I would wee into a makeshift
chamber pot if I needed to go in the night and tip the contents out
of the back bedroom window into the drain on the roof of the
extension below. One night I was a bit over zealous in tipping the
wee out of the chamber pot and it bounced off the slope of the
extension roof and the next thing I heard was a screeching,
“meeeeeooooowwww!!!” - the liquid had landed on an unfortunately
positioned cat. An unsuspecting pet owner must have had an
unpleasant and whiffy surprise when Tiddles entered the cat
flap.
 |
| A chamber pot. |
One
issue was getting to and from the Flagon & Gorses as it was too
far to navigate on my crutches and I did not want to incur the
expense of taxis. But I learnt from Fudgkins that incredibly a bus –
which I dubbed the Happy Bus – stops down the road from me and goes
around a few back streets, passing close to the Flagon on its
travels. So I was easily able to get to the Pirate's pleasure palace
for a pint or five. But I took my life in my own hands every time I
visited the toilet, especially after I had drunk a few, on account of
the sloping floor and the narrow channel of access through the bar.
After
a couple of months and rigorous physiotherapy the fun was over as my
ankle had healed sufficiently for me to return to work. Now when
there is heavy snowfall I take the scenic route on the way back from
the Flagon to avoid walking down the steep slope of Furnace Hill. The
last thing I need at the moment is another fall from grace.
©
Dominic Horton, February 2015.
Lowlife
is dedicated to the memory of the late Jonathan Rendall
Email:
lordhofr@gmail.com
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