Bruised and Bowed

Yesterday was a strange sort of day. Now I know my blog is not normally a diary, nor is it really one today, but I hope this tale of two strange events will give you both something to think about and cause to laugh.

My morning started with a walk into work, as it so often does these days. On the way I have to cross the road junction of the A4 by the HTV studios. This has one of the most complex traffic flows I've ever come across, which is odd as there are only really 3 roads meeting there. I was caught on one of the islands in the middle, waiting for the cross traffic, when I realised that the car turning right had stuck at the lights. As the car behind him beeped and the driver got out of the car, it was obvious some help was needed, so I offered to push.

But where could we move the car, with the traffic flowing all around us? Of course, there was the island I was on, which becomes the central reservation for the dual carriage way. I went to the front of the car, with the driver steering and well as pushing, but a mondeo is hefty without its power-steering. We had to rock it several times to get the rear wheels on the curb. Meanwhile the car behind manoeuvred round us to catch the next set of lights.

But now the car is on a slope; only a little one, perhaps 5%, but it makes pushing it that much harder. We try the rocking routine again, but this time the slope helps the car as it runs forward. Damn, even at 1-2 miles an hour a car hurts when it hits your knees! After the second time I realise that I'm regretting offering to help but I'm not going to do the female wimpy thing and give up. By now the lights have cycled again.

It is only at this point that the guy in the next car in line and the trucker behind him get out to help us. Even with all four of us it takes two or three attempts to finish getting the car on the reservation. But it's done and there won't be any more bruises on my knees. So I set off to work again, having had a cursory thank you. But as I looked back, the driver was shiftily taking a petrol can out of the boot. Really, I can sympathise running out of fuel – I've very nearly done it myself – but what annoyed me was that he'd just driven past a minimum of two garages. Well, his problem, I guess.

Of course, walking into work, involves walking back. Now the clocks have changed, it's all in the dark, but I quite enjoy that, apart from the fact it's very hard to check on the make of any unrecognised cars passing by. By co-incidence I had just crossed the junction where I'd had my adventure in the morning, when I saw what I thought was a broken down car on the other side of the road. I wasn't going to help this time, mainly because, in the rush hour, crossing the A4 at random would be suicidal, but I was intrigued. And this was my downfall, literally.

I was so busy staring across the road that I missed the turning into BKs. My toes caught the curb and I started to fall. I kept trying to catch myself, extending my stride and throwing my shoulders back. However, I wear a backpack to and from work and the weight of this was just the final straw. I collapsed just like a plank, hands first, but they didn't slow me enough to stop my face hitting concrete. There was no-one close by, so I just lay there for 10 seconds to regain my composure before standing up.

But as I made it to my feet, a gentleman caught up with me and asked if I was OK. I assured him I was, that I had just tripped because of my own carelessness. He was quite relieved and said it looked just as if I'd fainted. He was so kind and walked along side me for a minute, to make sure I was fine, before forging ahead – as a short-arse I can only walk slowly.

So there you go, I survived the day bruised, with a cut lip and without my dignity. But I feel the wheel of fate had completed its turn. In the morning I had done my best to be a good Samaritan, by the evening I had relied on the comfort of strangers.